The Ballad of the Woods

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In the heart of the woods where the wild ferns grow, There’s a whisper, a secret, that the wind likes to blow. Swaying trees sing in tune, Under the watchful eyes of the silvery moon. Little creatures scurry; they scamper with delight, As the stars above sparkle, oh so bright. In the marshy meadows by the old oak tree, There’s a dance of the fireflies, wild and free. By the river, the frogs croak a lullaby, Near the waterfall’s mist that kisses the sky. Dragonflies dart in an aerial dance, Glimmering wings carry them into a trance. Squirrels chatter in the canopy’s height, Speaking of wonders from morning to night. A festival of life, a symphony of sound, In the magical woods where joy is found. Such is the life in the wood’s warm embrace, A poem that rhymes with nature’s own grace. Every creature, unique, plays its part in the rhyme, In the ever-going ballad of the woods, so sublime.

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