Beneath the canopy of whispering leaves,
Where sunlight dances on the forest floor,
I found a love so pure and gentle,
In the poetry of Mary Oliver’s core.

Her words, a symphony of nature’s song,
Weaving tales of love in every verse,
The gentle touch of morning dew,
A testament to the universe.

In fields of wildflowers, her heart did roam,
With every petal, a story told,
Of love that blooms in quiet corners,
In the whispers of the winds of old.

Her love, a river flowing endlessly,
Through valleys deep and mountains high,
A timeless dance of heart and nature,
Beneath the ever-changing sky.