In the still of the night
when shadows dance,
They would sing if they
had the chance,
The sound of rustling
leaves is their sound,
For their tongues by
silence is bound,
They watch our every
quiver,
They predict our
every shiver,
As we stand in the
still of the night waiting
for shadows to dance,
listening to their whispers
as the breeze give them
their chance.
