In the shadowed corners of the night,
Ghostly whispers call out softly,
Echoes of lives once held tight,
Now drifting through eternity.

Beneath the silver glow of the moon,
Their silhouettes dance with the breeze,
Telling tales of love and ruin,
In a language only silence sees.

Among the ancient trees they linger,
Fingertips tracing the fabric of dreams,
Leaving behind a chill that lingers,
In the heart of night’s gentle streams.

As dawn approaches, they fade away,
Leaving the world in hushed repose,
Yet in the silence, their stories stay,
Carried by the wind that gently blows.