Beneath the crescent’s silver gleam,
In shadows cast by ancient trees,
The witches dance in midnight’s dream,
A symphony of mystery’s breeze.

Their laughter echoes through the night,
Enchanted spells weave through the air,
With whispered words of hidden might,
They conjure secrets rare and fair.

The cauldron bubbles, herbs entwine,
A potion brews of dark and light,
With stars above that brightly shine,
They harness magic’s purest sight.

The world may fear their wondrous power,
Yet in their hearts, a fire burns,
For witches in the midnight hour,
Know life in all its twists and turns.