Email Poem

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Poem

Under the starry sky, where fireflies light up the dark,
A cedar tree, old and wise, tells stories in the park.
Its branches, a tangled web, shaped by many years of weather,
Hold the dreams of travelers, who rest below together.

On the mossy roots, under the green canopy,
The steps of those who came before, speak of history.
Merchants with fine fabrics, poets with ancient lore,
Gather where the tree whispers, to share their wisdom and more.

By the tree, a lute, worn by time and use,
Plays of adventures and heroes, and lands that fear abuse.
The leaves, they sway and shiver, like voices in the wind,
Repeating tales of happiness, secrets, and sins.

Oh, old cedar, guardian of whispers and starlight,
Your strong arms protect us, from dawn to dusk to night.
In this green haven, where the sun paints the ferns,
We touch your rough bark, and learn from your words.

The sun beams through the trees, in shades of gold and green,
Where shadows dance with dreams, that the cedars have seen.
A quiet witness of ages, standing tall and proud,
You've seen empires rise and fall, heard whispers loud and soft.

So let the fire burn, as the moon takes the crown,
Let stories of fireflies and stars, fill the air around.
For in this wonderland, under the cedar's care,
We find a hidden language, in nature's sacred lair.

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