In the whispering leaves that dance with the breeze,
Where Wordsworth’s soul finds eternal peace,
A hymn of nature sings in gentle tones,
Whispering secrets in ancient stones.

The rivers flow with a graceful embrace,
Reflecting the sun’s golden face,
Mountains stand tall, guardians of time,
As Wordsworth’s spirit ascends the climb.

Meadows bloom with a palette so bright,
Bathed in the soft, celestial light,
Each flower tells a tale of yore,
In the endless beauty that we adore.

The night sky, a canvas of twinkling dreams,
Echoes the poet’s heartfelt themes,
In every star, a verse is found,
As Wordsworth’s nature knows no bound.