In a land where the footprints of ghosts linger,

Whispers of the past, a silent singer.

Through misty valleys and forests deep,

Their presence whispers, secrets to keep.

In twilight's embrace, they softly tread,

Echoes of memories, long since fled.

Their spectral touch upon the earth,

A reminder of lives, of death's rebirth.

We walk upon their shadowed trails,

Their stories woven in the gales.

In every whisper of the breeze,

Their essence lingers, with gentle ease.

So in this land where the footprints of ghosts remain,

Their legacy endures, an eternal refrain.