Into the forest heart, where whispers of the ancient roam,
Unseen paths stretch, where mortal feet dare not comb.
Long was the journey, shaman's voyage, star kissed,
To realms of shadows, where madness and the moon co-exist.

Sun's warmth retreated, prematurely stolen away,
Summer's laughter silenced in the chill of shortened day.
Came the silent screams, beneath the ancient boughs,
The forest shivered, in madness' throes, it bows.

Mad were the shapes that danced beneath the moon's gaze,
In the forest deep, where daylight's grasp never lays.
There, the shaman's voyage, turned labyrinthine and bizarre,
Guided by a laughing moon, not by the faithful star.

Shapes twisted in the shadows, woven of secrets and lies,
An echo of laughter, a chorus of sighs.
A symphony of lunacy, played by the unseen,
In the heart of the forest, beneath the moon's silvery sheen.

Beware the early fall of summer's vibrant reign,
It heralds the start of the mad moon's strain.
For the path becomes twisted, the journey far from light,
In the woods where summer ended, and day gave way to night.

Penned by my hand on Tisday, the 7th of Severin, in the year 511 MA.