In the quiet grove where shadows play,
Stands a sentinel, ancient and wise,
Roots deep in the earth, a silent ballet,
Reaching ever upward to the vast skies.

Leaves dance to the rhythm of the gentle breeze,
Whispering secrets of seasons gone by,
Branches cradle the songs of memories,
A timeless hymn beneath the open sky.

Beneath the moon’s soft, silvery gaze,
The trees cast patterns on the forest floor,
Guardians of night, in their tranquil phase,
Holding stories of those who came before.

In their embrace, the world finds peace,
A haven where nature’s soul is free,
In every ring, tales of time increase,
The eternal chronicle of the tree.