In the quiet corners of the night,
Where shadows dance with the moon’s light,
The nans whisper tales of old,
In voices soft, yet bold.

Through the rustling leaves they glide,
On gentle winds they choose to hide,
Their stories weave through time and space,
Leaving memories in their trace.

Beneath the starlit, endless sky,
The nans sing lullabies that sigh,
In dreams they paint with colors rare,
Crafting worlds beyond compare.

In the morning’s tender glow,
Their echoes linger, soft and slow,
A tapestry of whispered lore,
The nans remain forevermore.