In the quiet solitude of night,
Where dreams and thoughts entwine,
The pen begins its silent flight,
Tracing paths both bold and fine.

Upon the paper’s gentle plane,
Words emerge like morning dew,
Each line a whisper, soft and plain,
As stories old and new accrue.

Imagination takes its reign,
Crafting realms of joy and sorrow,
Through every joy, through every pain,
We write today, dream of tomorrow.

And as the moonlight fades away,
The words remain, a timeless song,
A testament to the light of day,
In writing, we forever belong.