In the stillness of the night, where secrets softly creep,
The forest hums a haunting tune, where shadows gently leap.
Beneath the cloak of silver light, the ancient oaks do sigh,
Guardians of untold tales, where mystic whispers lie.

The wind it weaves a tapestry, of mysteries untold,
In every rustling leaf and bough, a story to unfold.
The moon, a silent sentinel, watches from above,
Illuminating hidden paths, where the lost spirits rove.

Through the veil of misty dreams, echoes of the past,
Footsteps of forgotten souls, their shadows softly cast.
In the heart of midnight’s embrace, the forest holds its breath,
A symphony of silent cries, in the stillness of their death.

Yet in this realm of shadowed tales, where time itself does wane,
The beauty of the mystery, forever shall remain.
In every whisper of the wind, in every sighing tree,
The secrets of the ancient woods, are waiting to be free.