Sylvan Symphony - Poem

Sylvan Symphony

In the heart of an ancient forest, where the light softly surrenders,

A delicate weave of green whispers begin their tender footsteps,

Marching in the rhythm of a muted drum, brought alive by Nature’s stir.

The sprawling arms of giant oaks stretch into a sky, hued lavender and ember,

While beneath, hides a world, thriving silently in chambered echoes.

The symphony commences gently with a breeze,

Sifting through pine-needle strewn paths and rustling the boughs aloft.

It carries secrets from the furthest depths of the grove,

Notes played by the fleeting shuffle of a deer, cautious and swift.

Above, the chatter of leaves forms a chorus, a crisp, percussive rift.

Maples, birches, and ancient sycamores stand tall and slender,

Their leaves hum in verdant vibrato under the touch of the wind.

The crescendo grows as the brook nearby lends its voice,

Water over rocks, a persistent, rushing beat, cobbling together a melody,

Tuned finely by the call of the thrush, the bass of the frog, deep in the reeds.

Here, sunlight filters through the canopy in shards of warmth,

Illuminating the moss-laden belly of the forest.

Each ray strikes the floor like strings plucked on a celestial harp,

Its golden timbre mingling with the aroma of earth — damp and fresh,

The land’s own incense, rising in tendrils, mingling with morning’s first breath.

A rustling at the underbrush — a fox, coats aglow, embers in twilight,

Paws touching the soft bed of fallen leaves, composing a soft, crackling lullaby.

The scene shifts subtly as the canopy sways; shadows dance gentle waltzes,

Paying homage to the transient beauty of days known and nights awaited.

Every creature, every leaf, every whispering wind plays its part,

Creating a tapestry of sounds, all intricately linked, none left apart.

Squirrels join in this acoustic maze, darting, playful, with acorn percussion,

Their tiny feet patter across the bark, a staccato on the woodland drum.

Higher still, the birds carry the melody, from the robust caws of the crow,

To the delicate trill of the goldfinch, painting strokes of sonic color,

Blending into the green, an auditory palette lush with life’s fervor.

As the sun journeys, the light dims, bringing forth the moon’s silver symphony.

Stars blink awake and twinkle in time to the nocturne’s rise.

The forest breathes a softer tune under the moon’s watchful eye,

Frogs serenade the night, their croaks now bold, now shy,

As crickets violin their timeless hymn into the vast, velvet sky.

Deep within this sylvan stronghold, ancient as time, serene as dawn,

Stands an old elm, wise and wrinkled, trunk etched with the ages’ song.

Its roots delve deep into histories untold, soaking stories from the soil,

A living conduit between the earth’s core and the stretches of the azure above.

It has seen seasons turn like pages — life’s ephemeral yet enduring song.

Thus unfolds the symphony in this forest, unseen yet deeply felt,

A melody carried on the wings of the wind, etched into the DNA of leaves.

Here, where the human eye scarce treads, music fills the void,

A symphony that speaks without words, where every note decreed

Celebrates the unseen, the eternal dance of life and death, interwoven and free.

This sylvan symphony plays not for applause, nor fame, nor silver coins,

But for the purest joy of existence, the heartfelt surge of life’s own voice.

Amidst this concert, hearts can find a tune to quiet their own noise,

Learning from the unyielding grace of nature’s undisturbed, wise poise.

In the stillness between each note, the soul finds its resonance, its choice.

And so, let us listen, really listen — not merely hear —

To the symphony the sylvan realms so freely compose;

For in doing so, we might uncover the rhythms hidden deep within,

Those that guide us through life’s flux and flow,

And teach us to find harmony, in the world, and also deep below.