Amid the rustling leaves’ sweet song, Where whispers of the wild belong, The poets pen their tales of yore, In…
In the quiet dawn, where whispers weave, Poets find their muse among the leaves. Each rustling sound, a verse unspoken,…
In the cradle of verdant hills, they wrote, Of riversâ songs and the twilightâs cloak. Leaves whisper secrets, wind-touched and…