In the heart of the whispering woods, where shadows dance and play,
The leaves sing songs of ancient times, in a green and golden ballet.
The sunlight filters through the boughs, casting a tender glow,
On paths that wind through ferns and flowers, where only dreamers go.

The brook that babbles secrets old, as it weaves through moss and stone,
Its crystal waters tell a tale, of lands and lives unknown.
The scent of pine and earth so rich, a perfume wild and free,
Enchants the air with every breath, beneath the canopy.

As twilight falls, the forest hums, a chorus of the night,
With crickets, owls, and rustling leaves, beneath the silver light.
The stars peek through the branches high, like diamonds in the sky,
And moonbeams whisper soft goodbyes, to the day that’s passed us by.

In winter’s chill, the woods stand still, wrapped in a cloak of white,
The silence speaks a language old, in the frost’s gentle bite.
Yet spring will come with tender touch, to wake the woods anew,
And life will burst in vibrant hues, beneath the skies so blue.