The Moon’s Ancient Tune

The Moon’s Ancient Tune

Beneath the cold and silent moon,Your spirit finds its ancient tune.The night, a shroud of icy breath,Embraces you with chill of death.Yet in this frozen, spectral boon,Your heart begins its eerie croon.When shadows stretch and phantoms swoon,In darkness, where the lost commune,Your essence hums a ghostly rune.The moon, a witness to your plight,Glimmers pale, its cold light stark.It illuminates the ancient ritesOf spirits restless in the dark.Their whispers rise, a spectral spark,As your own soul joins their ancient mark.Through frost and whispering, spectral gloom,Your spirit dances to its doom,In rhythm with the moon’s own croon.The silver orb, so bleak and cold,Knows well the depths where shadows fold.It guides you through the chill and shiver,Where spirits haunt and moonlight quivers.Your essence finds the echoes old,In darkness where the tales are told.Amid the frost, your spirit’s flameBurns with the echoes of its name.The ancient song within you blooms,Beneath the cold and silent moon.