In the quiet dance of rustling leaves,
Where shadows stretch and sunlight weaves,
Nature whispers tales of old,
Of life and death in whispers bold.

The river sings a mournful tune,
Underneath the watchful moon,
Its waters flow with stories deep,
Of secrets held and promises to keep.

Mountains stand in solemn grace,
Guardians of time in their stoic place,
Their peaks touch the endless sky,
Witnesses to every life that passes by.

And in the meadow, flowers bloom,
A fleeting beauty that hides the gloom,
For in each petal, a story ends,
As nature and death become eternal friends.