In the quiet of the night, their whispers call,
Through the rustling leaves and ancient halls.
Spirits of the past, in shadows they dwell,
Carrying stories that time cannot quell.
Beneath the stars, they weave their song,
A tapestry of memories, both weak and strong.
Their voices guide us through the unknown,
Reminding us we never walk alone.
In dreams, they appear with wisdom vast,
Teaching us lessons from eras long past.
With gentle hands, they shape our fate,
Connecting us to love that never abates.
Ancestors, guardians of our soulâs flight,
In their presence, the darkest night is light.
Through their eyes, we see our place,
A lineage of strength, an endless embrace.