In the woods, where shadows play,
Whispers of nature, softly sway.
Frost’s words linger, in the air,
Painting scenes, beyond compare.
Beneath the pines, where secrets lie,
The rustling leaves, a lullaby.
A path less traveled, winding through,
Echoes of Frost, in morning dew.
The morning mist, a gentle veil,
Over meadows, soft and pale.
Quiet streams, with tales untold,
Nature’s beauty, pure and bold.
As twilight falls, the stars align,
In silent woods, where dreams entwine.
Frost’s nature calls, a timeless song,
In every breath, we belong.