Beneath the moon’s pale, ghastly glow,
Where shadows whisper soft and low,
Forgotten stones in silence mourn,
Shrouded in mist, their tales are torn.
Ebon branches claw at the night,
As specters roam, a spectral sight.
Each name engraved, a silent cry,
Echoes linger, as dreams drift by.
The nightingale sings a mournful tune,
Beneath the watchful gaze of the moon.
O solemn place where the weary lie,
In sepulchral stillness, time drifts by.
Here, lost souls in shadows blend,
In the grave’s embrace, they softly bend.
So linger long, ‘neath the weeping trees,
For in this realm, the heartache frees.
The essence of life, now a fleeting breath,
In the cemetery’s hold, they dance with death.