In the heart of the ancient woods, where shadows dance,
A symphony of whispers fills the tranquil air.
Leaves rustle secrets in a gentle trance,
While sunlight weaves gold through branches bare.

Moss carpets paths where wanderers tread slow,
Guided by echoes of the forest’s lore.
Each tree a sentinel of ages, standing aglow,
Guardians of stories untold evermore.

Streams sing softly, a melody pure,
Cradling pebbles with a tender embrace.
Their murmurs promise solace, a cure,
In the forest’s arms, time finds its grace.

The whispers grow as dusk paints the sky,
Stars peek through the canopy’s gentle weave.
In this timeless realm, where dreams lie,
The forest breathes, and we believe.