In the hush of dawn they rise,
Sheltered by the ancient trees,
Tiny caps and slender stems,
Dancing with the morning breeze.

Beneath the canopy’s emerald veil,
They weave a tapestry untold,
Silent witnesses of nature’s lore,
In shades of brown, red, and gold.

They whisper secrets to the earth,
In languages only winds can hear,
Carving stories in the loamy soil,
Of life, of death, of seasons near.

Fragile yet resilient,
They bloom in shadows deep,
Guardians of the woodlands’ soul,
In their quiet vigil, they keep.