In a quiet glade where the wildflowers bloom,
Underneath the vast, whispered canopy loom,
The sun spills its gold like a painter’s soft brush,
And the world holds its breath in a tranquil hush.
A brook dances lightly, a murmuring song,
As the leaves rustle secrets of all that belongs,
The wind weaves a story through branches and leaves,
Telling tales of old lovers and dreams spun like webs.
Here, time takes a pause; it strolls