In the quiet woods where whispers dwell,
A poet finds his voice, his tale to tell.
Among the birch and pine, he treads with care,
Seeking paths unknown, in the crisp, cool air.

Beneath the stars, his thoughts begin to weave,
Stories of the road, and what we leave.
With every step, a verse is softly spun,
His journey through the woods has just begun.

The frost-kissed paths where shadows play,
Reflect the choices made along the way.
His pen, a compass, guiding through the night,
Illuminates the world with gentle light.

As dawn breaks, painting skies of gold,
The poet’s words, a tapestry unfolds.
In nature’s arms, his spirit finds its rest,
In whispered woods, where dreams are blessed.