A Symphony of Cliches

This poem is a cliché bonanza, practically begging for an AI checker to throw its hands up in frustration. Have fun AI. ROFLMAO Beneath the moon’s soft, silver glow, Where gentle breezes whisper low, The stars, like diamonds, dot the night, As love takes wing in fleeting flight. The roses blush a crimson hue, Their petals kissed by morning dew. A lone bird sings a mournful tune, Of hearts entwined, then split too soon. Time’s river flows, a ceaseless stream, Carrying life’s ephemeral dream. The shadows dance; the echoes fade, As twilight wraps the world in shade. And yet, within this well-worn verse, A spark of truth may still disperse. For though these lines may oft be spun, Each cliché holds its weight for one.