In the quiet of the night, where shadows softly dance,
Atticus finds the whispers, a truth in every glance.
Stars like ancient scribes, etch stories on the sky,
Magic breathes in silence, as dreams begin to fly.

Beneath the silver moon, secrets gently unfold,
A tapestry of wonder, in threads of tales untold.
The world becomes a canvas, where magic paints its hue,
In the eyes of Atticus, the old becomes the new.

The heartbeats of the forest, a melody so pure,
Speak of ancient spells, in echoes that endure.
With every step he takes, the earth begins to sing,
Revealing hidden realms, where only truth can bring.

Atticus knows the magic, lies not in grand display,
But in the simple moments, where truth finds its way.
In the gentle rustle of leaves, in the softest sighs of night,
Magic whispers to the soul, in its subtle, gentle light.