In whispered winds of twilight’s grace,
Lies magic’s truth in hidden space.
Atticus, with eyes that see,
Dreams the world as it could be.
Through veils of night where secrets glide,
His heart, a compass, does not hide.
With every star, a story spun,
Beneath the moon, all fears undone.
In shadows cast by ancient trees,
He conjures hope upon the breeze.
A gentle touch of mystic art,
Weaves the threads that bind the heart.
The truth of magic in his gaze,
A dance of light in endless maze.
Atticus, a silent guide,
Illuminates the path inside.