Beneath the boughs where twilight spills its gold,
The whispering winds through blooming meadows glide.
A river sings where silent secrets fold,
And daisies nod with grace the hills can't hide.

The sky, a canvas brushed in fading flame,
Reflects in pools where dragonflies alight.
The lark ascends and calls the sun by name,
While shadows dance beneath the birch’s light.

In Nature’s hush, the soul is softly stirred—
A truth more pure than ever man has heard.