Beneath the boughs where ancient shadows play, A gentle breeze recites tales of olden days. Through rustling leaves, soft voices seem to say Secrets the forest kept in twilight’s haze. A traveler paused where two paths crossed the wood, His heart with wonder and the silence filled. No map he carried, yet he understood That by the pines his fate would be revealed. The moon now climbs where sun once cast its gold, Weaving through branches, a spectral silver thread. In nature’s story, endlessly ...
