The night reclines in softened hands,
A hush adorned in silver strands.
The air is thick with woven dreams,
A slumber wrapped in silent seams.

Yet moonlight stirs in shadow’s grasp,
A waning glow in dark held fast.
It flickers low, yet will not die,
A patient eye, a sleepless sigh.

Do dreams dissolve beneath eclipse,
Or do they bloom on darkened lips?
For even in the starless night,
A whisper glows—a hidden light.

And though the world may wane to black,
Some reveries still glimmer back.
For dreams are echoes yet unborn,
And even lost, they still adorn.