In the quiet whispers of the forest deep,
Where shadows dance and secrets softly sleep,
Lies the tale of a glove, woven with grace,
A guardian of whispers, in its silken embrace.

Beneath the canopy, where sunlight barely gleams,
The tanaglove moves with the grace of dreams,
Its fingers tracing stories in the air,
A silent symphony, beyond compare.

In moonlit glades where mysteries unfold,
Its presence is a legend often told,
Of magic interwoven in every thread,
A keeper of the past, where dreams are fed.

So in the hush of twilight’s gentle glow,
The tanaglove continues its ethereal show,
A dance of shadows, in the night’s embrace,
A timeless journey, to a hidden place.