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.
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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