Beneath the canopy where shadows dance,
Words of the ancients find their chance,
To sing with leaves in gentle breeze,
Where poets’ hearts find their ease.

In the rustle of the autumn’s gold,
Tales of wonder softly told,
By those who walked the wooded trails,
And penned the songs of windswept sails.

Meadows bloom where verses lie,
Underneath the vast and open sky,
Echoes of the earth’s embrace,
Written in the poets’ grace.

Through seasons’ change, their voices ring,
In every bird that takes to wing,
For in nature’s grand, eternal art,
Poets find their truest heart.