In twilight woods where shadows sway,
The pipes of Pan begin to play,
A haunting tune, both wild and free,
That stirs the soul of land and sea.
His hooves strike earth, his breath the breeze,
That whispers through the ancient trees.
With curling horns and eyes of flame,
He dances, calling out his name.
Pan, the wild, the untamed god,
Who roams the fields where mortals trod,
With laughter fierce, he claims the glen,
The untamed heart of beasts and men.
The nymphs will join, the streams will sing,
And all the earth begins to ring.
For Pan, the wild, commands it so,
In moonlit paths where rivers flow.
Yet fear him too, in darkest night,
For Pan’s embrace is pure delight,
But chaos dwells within his eyes—
Where joy and madness intertwine.
In hills and hollows, meadows wide,
The echoes of his music hide.
And those who hear may never be
The same beneath his ancient tree.
2024 ©️
The Royal Octopus 