In the silence of the night, the wind whispers softly,
Carrying tales of dreams and forgotten stories,
As leaves rustle under a sliver moon's light,
And shadows dance in fleeting glories.
It tells of lovers beneath the ancient trees,
Of promises made, yet swept away,
In fleeting moments, like a gentle breeze,
That visits briefly, then can’t stay.
The wind speaks of mountains and seas far beyond,
Of stars scattered across the velvet sky,
Of hearts once young, now aged and fond,
Of songs that echo, then slowly die.
So when the wind sighs, lean in close to hear,
Its haunting tales of joy and sorrow.
For in each gust, a soul appears,
A fleeting ghost we may borrow.