In the gentle rustle of the leaves,
The whispers of Whitman softly call,
Nature’s symphony in the breeze,
A timeless dance in the wooded hall.

The trees stand tall in silent grace,
Guardians of stories untold,
Their branches weave a tender embrace,
As seasons in their arms unfold.

Beneath the canopy’s emerald hue,
Life pulses in rhythmic song,
Each note a tribute to skies so blue,
Where wild souls and dreams belong.

In every blade of grass, a tale,
Of life’s eternal, endless thread,
A whisper of the vast detail,
That Walt once penned and softly said.