Beneath the canopy of emerald green,
Whispers of secrets, old yet unseen,
The ancient oak stands tall and wise,
With roots that touch the endless skies.

Leaves that dance with the gentle breeze,
Singing tales of timeless peace,
Each rustle tells a story grand,
Of seasons passing through the land.

Sunlight filters through branches high,
Painting shadows that softly sigh,
The earth below, a cradle of life,
In harmony, free from strife.

In twilight’s glow, the tree still stands,
Guardian of these fertile lands,
A monument to nature’s grace,
In its presence, find your place.