Spirits, silent spirits, my patrons of solemn art.
Through these stanzas pitch your tent in my heart.
Rule upon the mystery of the river flow of words,
And by thy wonders, crown me master of blurbs.
O spirits fair, with voices hushed and low,
Reveal thy secrets, let thy stories flow.
Through stanzas woven with mystic delight,
Unveil the realm where day and night unite.
The ghostly maiden, veiled in misty white,
Recites her tales of love’s eternal fight.
Her sighs, a haunting melody profound,
Weaving yearning whispers in each sweet sound.
And lo, the jester spirit takes his part,
His jests a mask to mend a broken heart.
With clever wit and poignant jesting skill,
He brings forth laughter, though his heart lies still.
But hark! The spirits’ chorus now ascends,
Their voices blending, earthly ties they rend.
A symphony in verse, resounding clear,
Their spectral music gracing mortal ears.
From tragic odes to songs of love’s embrace,
These spirits conjure feelings, time erase.
Their spectral symphony, forever grand,
An ode to life, penned by a ghostly band.
So heed, my dear mortal, to their plea,
Enfold the spirits’ whispers, let them be.
For in their symphony, you too shall find
A glimpse of truths that dwell in realms confined.