V. The Forest of Echoes

The forest listens, rooted in its song,

each bough a witness to the lives it keeps.

Its shadows cradle whispers that belong

to love once spoken, folded into sleep.

The leaves still shine with glimmers of the day,

yet dusk climbs upward, weaving branch with sky.

Both light and dark entwine in slow display,

a choir of silence teaching how to die.

And as I walk, the echoes move with me,

a thousand voices tangled in the air.

They are not gone, but dwell within the tree,

their presence hidden, vast, and everywhere.

So forest breathes, and every shadow shows:

no voice is lost, the living root still knows.