Frost-Kissed Whispers

Beneath the ancient oaks so wise,

Yule’s magic in the cold air lies.

Pagan hearts in a frosty trance,

Dancing ‘neath the moon’s soft glance.

In the stillness of the winter night,

Where shadows weave their tales so tight.

A whisper of frost, a sacred call,

Echoes through the woods, enchanting all.

The ancient oaks, guardians tall,

Stand sentinel in the moonlight’s thrall.

Their branches reach to touch the sky,

As Yule’s magic unfolds, drawing nigh.

A frost-kissed world in quiet repose,

Nature’s lullaby, as the cold wind blows.

Pagan spirits, awake and alive,

Feel the magic deep, as it begins to thrive.

Yule’s aura, a shimmering veil,

In the moonlit woods, where spirits trail.

Pagan hearts, in a trance so deep,

Wakened from their wintry sleep.

Dancing shadows on the snow,

As Yule’s enchantment continues to grow.

The moon, a witness to the pagan rite,

As they celebrate beneath her silver light.

A circle formed on the sacred ground,

Where frost-kissed whispers abound.

Witches, in the dance of ancient lore,

Feel the energy rise, more and more.

The air, a canvas of frosty dreams,

As Yule’s magic swirls in moonlit streams.

Pagan chants weave a spell so grand,

A celebration echoing through the land.

The frost-kissed whispers weave a story,

Of Yule’s glory, in all its glory.

In the heart of winter, spirits soar,

As the ancient oaks their wisdom pour.

Beneath their boughs, the dance goes on,

Pagan souls, in unity drawn.

The moon, a witness to their delight,

As they revel in the Yuletide night.

So beneath the ancient oaks so wise,

Where Yule’s magic in the cold air lies.

Pagan hearts in a frosty trance,

Dancing ‘neath the moon’s soft glance.