In the heart of the midnight hour,
Beneath the moon’s gentle power,
Witches gather, cloaked in night,
Whispering spells in the silver light.

Candles flicker in the forest deep,
While ancient secrets softly creep,
Cauldrons bubble with mystic brew,
Mysteries lost to all but a few.

Owls keep watch with eyes aglow,
As the winds of magic softly blow,
Rituals dance in the shadowed glade,
Where dreams and reality gently fade.

The whispering trees bear witness here,
To the coven’s song, both wild and clear,
In the sacred circle, hand in hand,
They weave their magic across the land.