In the heart of the ancient forest they gather,
Cloaked in shadows, weaving spells in the night.
Their whispers ride on the cool, crisp air,
Calling forth secrets hidden from sight.

The moon, a watchful eye, casts its glow,
Illuminating the circle of stone and lore.
Cauldrons bubble with potions unknown,
As the witches dance on the forest floor.

Their laughter echoes through the silent trees,
A melody of power, mysterious and deep.
With every chant, the winds seem to freeze,
Guarding the secrets they vow to keep.

When dawn approaches, they fade like mist,
Leaving behind only tales to tell.
The forest remembers the night’s tryst,
Where the witches wove their enchanting spell.