Beneath the canopy of emerald dreams,
Where sunlight dances in golden beams,
Poets find their muse in nature’s embrace,
Capturing moments of tranquil grace.

The rustling leaves sing ancient songs,
Whispering tales where the heart belongs,
Through ink and verse, they paint the scene,
Of rivers, mountains, and fields of green.

In the twilight’s gentle, fading light,
They chronicle the journey from day to night,
With every breath, they honor the land,
Each word a testament to nature’s hand.

From Wordsworth’s lakes to Frost’s snowy woods,
Their verses echo through time’s vast flood,
Celebrating the earth, both wild and free,
A timeless bond between poets and trees.