When the clock strikes 12, the world exhales,
And silence spills through shadowed trails.
A hush falls soft on rooftops steep,
While stars begin their solemn sweep.

The moon slips on her silver veil,
A whisper carried by the gale.
Curtains dance to unseen hands,
As midnight casts its quiet demands.

Time bends in that fleeting chime,
A bridge between the day and time
Where secrets stir and spirits wake,
And dreams slip through the cracks they make.

Old wishes echo in the air,
Unspoken hopes, half-spun despair.
A fox tiptoes through garden dew,
The world turns dark, then strangely new.

Lovers kiss in borrowed light,
Owls take flight into the night.
The clock ticks on, a lullaby,
For those who ache, for those who cry.

When the clock strikes 12, beware—
Magic hums through midnight air.
And if you listen close, you’ll hear
The heartbeats of another sphere.