Whispers of the wind

Beneath the cerulean canvas, the wind begins to speak,A whisper through the leaves, a language soft and meek.It carries tales of distant lands, of mountains high and wide,And as it weaves through ancient trees, secrets it confides.Invisible fingers gently graze the fields of green,Caressing every blade, a touch, serene.It hums a melody, a lullaby so sweet,Guiding the dandelion seeds in a graceful, airborne fleet.Whispers of the wind, in echoes, softly call,A symphony of nature, orchestrating all.It tells of bygone stories, etched in every breeze,A timeless conversation, rustling through the trees.So, hush now and listen to the zephyr's tender tale,Feel the gentle currents, let your spirit sail.For in the quiet whispers, a world unfolds,A story in the wind, as ancient as it's told.