In shadows deep where whispers dwell,
Beneath the moon’s enchanting spell,

There lies a craft both dark and bright,
A sorcerer's art, a mystic’s light.

With ancient tomes and silver thread,
They weave their spells, the living, the dead.

In cauldrons deep, their potions brew,
A blend of dreams, of night, of dew.

Yet sorcery is not all dark,
It births new stars, ignites a spark.

For in its heart, a truth profound:
In every spell, life’s magic’s found.

So heed the call, the mystic’s plea,
In sorcery, both wild and free.

For those who seek with open mind,
In magic’s art, true peace may find.