In the quiet woods where shadows play,
The leaves whisper secrets of yesterday,
A dance of life, a gentle breath,
Nature’s embrace in the arms of death.

The river sings a mournful tune,
Under the watchful eye of the moon,
Flowing through time, a constant thread,
Carrying whispers of those long dead.

Mountains stand with silent grace,
Guardians of time in this sacred space,
Echoes linger in the rustling breeze,
Nature’s voice in the whispering trees.

Yet, in death, life finds its way,
A cycle reborn with each new day,
In nature’s heart, a promise keeps,
In every end, a seed that sleeps.