In the quiet halls where lanterns softly glow,
Spirits wander, their stories etched in time,
Each breath of incense carries whispers low,
Guiding lost souls with a fragrant rhyme.
Beneath the moon, where shadows gently dance,
Ancestral voices call from distant lands,
Their presence felt in every fleeting glance,
A tapestry of life in ghostly hands.
Ceremonial chants echo through the air,
Unraveling tales of love, loss, and grace,
In this sacred space, the living share
Silent conversations with the past’s embrace.
As paper fades to ash in fire’s tender glow,
Connections weave through time’s eternal thread,
In this cycle, where the living come to know
That memory’s flame is never truly dead.