Beneath the silver moon’s embrace,
They gather in the ancient place.
Cloaked in whispers, shadows dance,
Ensnaring all within their trance.

The night is filled with secrets old,
As witches weave their stories bold.
Their chants arise, a haunting song,
A melody where dark belongs.

In cauldrons deep, their potions brew,
With herbs and spells of mystic hue.
Each incantation, softly spoken,
A binding spell, a promise broken.

The forest hums with ancient power,
As witches claim the midnight hour.
In shadows deep, they find their might,
Guardians of the endless night.