Lo! In yonder meadow standeth a henge most curious, not of stone, but of cotton most celestial. No hammer shaped its form, for it was sculpted by dreamers and the breath of lambs. A circle of downy spheres, as though plucked from the very clouds, it defies all weight and gravity.
Men of lore do squabble o’er its origins. Some claim fairies stacked these woolen orbs, others whisper of a mighty sneeze from the heavens. Yet all agree—none may behold its pillowy embrace without feeling the urge to nap.
But woe to the traveler who leaneth upon its yielding frame! Unlike its stony kin, it beareth no strength. Many a wayfarer hath tumbled earthward, shrouded in cotton and regret. Thus, the legend endures—a monument soft as a whispered dream.
Credit | ChatGTP
