Whispers of the Wild

The morning spills in golden streams,

Through canopies of emerald dreams,

Where dew-kissed leaves in silence sing

The softest songs of blossoming spring.

The river hums a lullaby,

Its waters bright as sapphire sky,

While dragonflies in jeweled flight

Trace fleeting arcs of morning light.

A mountain breathes beneath the mist,

Its silence by the sunbeam kissed,

And ancient pines, in stillness grand,

Stand like sentinels of the land.

O nature, with your boundless grace,

Each moment is a sacred place—

A fleeting glimpse, a breath, a hue,

Of Earth’s pure soul in every view.