Beneath the emerald canopy, where shadows softly play,
The ancient trees stand tall and wise, in a tranquil, timeless sway.
Their branches reach towards the sky, in silent, sacred prayer,
A testament to years gone by, to life that they declare.

The whispers of their leaves, a symphony of old,
Tales of seasons long forgotten, in the forest’s heart retold.
Each ring within their mighty trunks, a story etched in time,
A chronicle of sun and storm, of nature’s rhythmic rhyme.

In the quiet of the woodland, where time seems to stand still,
The ancient trees guard secrets, in the air so crisp and chill.
Their roots entwine the earth below, in an embrace so deep,
Anchoring the world above, in a bond they vow to keep.

Oh, to be a part of this, the forest’s living lore,
To feel the pulse of nature, to hear its mighty roar.
The ancient trees remind us, of our place within the whole,
That we are but a fleeting breath, in the forest’s eternal soul.