In the heart of the moonlit forest, where shadows dance and play,
Whispers of ancient witches sing, guiding the night away.
Their spells weave through the tangled trees, a symphony of old,
Enchantments of forgotten lore, in mysteries untold.

Beneath the silver canopy, their cauldrons bubble bright,
A potion brewed from twilight’s kiss, in the stillness of the night.
The air is thick with magic, a scent both sweet and wild,
As witches chant in harmony, their voices soft and mild.

With hands that craft the unseen, they bind the stars with care,
Weaving dreams and destinies, in the cool night air.
Their eyes reflect the cosmos, a mirror of the skies,
Each spell a hidden story, in a web of ancient ties.

So listen to the whispers, as night begins to fall,
The witches of the moonlit wood, respond to nature’s call.
In the quiet of the twilight, their secrets softly show,
The magic of the witches, in the moon’s gentle glow.