Beneath the canopy of ancient oaks,
Where secrets of the forest softly spoke,
Their mighty limbs stretched towards the sky,
As centuries of wisdom flew on high.

The weeping willows by the river’s edge,
Their graceful branches formed a solemn pledge,
To hold the stories of the days gone by,
Whispered in the breeze with a gentle sigh.

The cherry blossoms in their fleeting bloom,
Paint the spring with colors that consume,
A fleeting beauty, a moment’s grace,
That dances lightly in the morning’s embrace.

Under the baobab’s ancient, watchful gaze,
The tales of time in tangled roots amaze,
Guardians of history in silent form,
They stand resilient through the storm.