A woman sitting in the woods reading a book

In the midnight hour, under moon's soft glow, Whispers of the witches, in the night’s deep flow. Candles flicker gently, casting shadows wide, We gather in the circle, where the secrets hide. Coven's chant, in the moonlit grove, In the mystic twilight, where the shadows rove. In the realm of witches, where the magic lies, In the heart of darkness, our spirits rise. Through the ancient forest, where the nightshade blooms, Paths of hidden wisdom, under silver moons. With the potions brewing, and the spellbook’s lore, We summon ancient forces, from the ages’ core. In the sacred circle, with the witch's mark, We invoke the power, in the midnight dark. Chanting with the spirits, in a rhythmic trance, In the cloak of witchcraft, where the shadows dance. As the dawn approaches, and the stars retreat, We fade into the shadows, where our magic's sweet. Till the night returns, with the moon's embrace, We’ll awaken once more, in the witching space.

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