The shimmer of the setting sun glistens against crimson clouds, its façade, unblemished. The lighthouse stands regal, as stoic witness. The waters create a contrasting veneer on an evening of nostalgia. Nothing can disturb its peace, not even eager tides beating against quiet sands. People have walked, embracing, on those tacit sands.
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There came an uprising, turbulent tides washed away remnants of a past, of a bygone era; where devoutly the setting sun danced with shadows on pristine waters, plagued thoughts, indulged in a panoramic composition of art and symphony, as the lighthouse watched the tides turn in its wakefulness.
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