Beneath the moon, so round and bright,
The forest hums in silver light.
Each leaf aglow with lunar grace,
A shimmer soft on nature’s face.
The owls begin their nightly song,
Their echoes weaving all night long.
Crickets chime in rhythmic tune,
Serenading the quiet moon.
The river sparkles, calm and wide,
A mirror where the stars confide.
It speaks in murmurs, low and deep,
A lullaby that lulls to sleep.
The pines, like giants, still and tall,
Stand sentry to the midnight call.
Their needles whisper with the breeze—
A language learned from ancient trees.
Foxes glide through meadow mist,
Their paws on earth, like shadows kissed.
And fireflies, in swirling flight,
Dance like dreams born out of light.
No human voice, no engine’s hum,
Just silence where the wild things come.
A sacred hush, a world renewed,
As nature breathes in silver mood.
O moon, pale watcher in the skies,
You draw the tides and stir the cries
Of wolves that sing to stars above—
Their song a longing, fierce with love.
So let me walk this quiet land,
With moonlight soft in open hand.
For in your glow, the world feels right—
A poem written in silver night.
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