Under the moon’s pale gaze, they gather,
Shadows in the night, a blackened choir,
Their calls like whispers on the wind,
An ancient song that chills the heart.

Perched on branches, silent sentinels,
Observing life with eyes of coal,
They speak of mysteries untold,
In a language only they can know.

The world sleeps, but they are watchful,
Guardians of secrets from times past,
In their flight, a dance of shadows,
Weaving tales as they soar high.

As dawn’s first light begins to break,
They vanish into the morning mist,
Leaving behind their haunting echoes,
A memory of the night’s embrace.