In the quiet rustle of leaves, they found their muse,
Poets who wandered where the wildflowers bloom,
Their quills dipped in the colors of the earth,
Painting verses with the morning dew’s embrace.
They listened to the rivers’ endless tales,
And in the mountains’ shadow, they penned their dreams,
With every sunrise, a new stanza was born,
Capturing the soul of the untamed wild.
Through the whispers of the wind, their words took flight,
Echoing the symphony of the forest deep,
In the dance of shadows and the song of the stars,
They found the heart of natureâs gentle grace.
Their legacy, a tapestry of emerald and gold,
Etched in the memory of the ancient woods,
For those who seek the poetry of the earth,
Look to the lines where their spirits still roam.