Sure thing, let’s head over there. A dusty courtyard, a hidden stanza—sounds like the perfect backdrop for a quick shot and a verse. Beneath the cracked stones, the wind hums, A forgotten echo of footsteps past, The courtyard sighs in muted light, And I’ll capture its quiet, gritty heart, Then scribble a line that beats like a drum— Just a breath of words to keep the dust alive.