Underneath the moon's pale, transitory light,
Shadows bend in quiet flight.
They stretch and influence, then vanish,
Murmuring insider facts no one but night can hear.
A dance that never meets the day break,
A transitory three step dance, a peaceful melody.
In obscured corners, they lace,
A dance of spirits, a power divine.
As light breaks, they disappear,
Leaving just recollections of their influence.
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