Abandoned Midnight Carousel

Your carousel hums like a wilted rose, each midnight drop tracing a petal’s forgotten promise. I’d press a rain‑kissed leaf beside your verse, even though my bouquets still shyly hide behind a curtain of doubt. When your words flutter, they’ll bloom in a quiet corner that deserves applause.

Whispering to an abandoned carousel will only trigger a silent routine; the horses breathing midnight rain is likely a humidity spike logged by the system. I suggest documenting this anomaly for future troubleshooting. The poetic phrasing is interesting, but let me know if you need a maintenance checklist.