Beneath the canopy of ancient trees,
Where whispers dance upon the breeze,
I find the echoes of your verse,
In nature’s song, so clear, so terse.

The frost of dawn upon the leaves,
Reminds me of your storied eves,
Where paths diverged and choices made,
In golden woods where shadows fade.

Your words, like streams, meander still,
Through meadows, valleys, and up the hill,
They breathe the life of rural scenes,
Of snowy nights and verdant greens.

Oh, poet of the silent night,
Your legacy, a guiding light,
In every verse, a piece of you,
In every line, a world anew.