The Storyteller of Nocturnal Spirits

She stirs when twilight drapes the world in blue,
When silence hums and dreams begin to brew.
Wings, indigo-inked with night’s forgotten names,
Stir shadowed tales and half-extinguished flames.

She darts with foxes through the bramble hush,
Past deer who linger in the moonlit brush.
The owls intone their wisdom overhead—
Moths dance in the parade that the fireflies led.

The whip-poor-will repeats her ancient themes,
While bats zigzag through restless, drifting dreams.
Spirits and specters, wood nymphs and fae
Emerge from hiding till the break of day.

Not born of sleep, nor summoned out of fright—
She is the winged keeper of the sacred night.