The woods don’t rush — they breathe in time,

with heartbeat roots and quiet rhyme.

Each leaf a note, each breeze a chord,

a song no human tongue has scored.

The sun slips gold through tangled lace,

painting warmth on nature’s face.

Shadows dance on mossy ground,

where secrets sleep and peace is found.

The creek hums soft, a lullaby,

as birds spill laughter through the sky.

The air smells wild — of pine and rain,

of letting go, yet growing again.

No walls, no clocks, no heavy name,

just earth and spirit — both the same.

And when I leave, I swear it should,

pull me back home — deep in the woods.