Beneath the crescent’s silver light,

Where shadows dance with stars at night,

A forest stirs, its secrets deep,

Where dreams awaken, yet never sleep.

The air is thick with whispered songs,

A haunting tune where time belongs.

Each leaf a rune, each branch a thread,

Weaving tales of the living and dead.

A phantom glow through the mist does weave,

Hints of wonders none believe.

The trees bend low as if to bow,

To unseen powers watching now.

The winds speak soft, in tongues arcane,

Of ancient lore and hidden pain.

A voice calls out, so sweet, so clear,

It draws you close, it pulls you near.

But tread with care, oh wandering soul,

For beauty here may take its toll.

Enchantment waits with bated breath,

A fragile line ’twixt awe and death.

And when the dawn dispels the haze,

You’ll wonder if it was a maze,

A fleeting spell, a siren’s plea,

Or just a dream of mystery.