In whispered tongues of ancient bark,
beneath the velvet cloak of stars,
runes of sap and shadows stark,
etch the sky in dreamlike scars.
Leaves speak secrets in silent sways,
{The Paper Birch knows}{Forgotten Wisdom},
translating rustles that weave and play,
knit roots in the marrow of gnarled freedom.
Lost oaths to the canopy, now bound in grace,
with whispered leaf-script, timeless embrace,
The Eldest Tree lifts its branches, wide,
fashioning a cradle for souls that glide.
Seek the forest's pulse, hear the unspoken sin,
{Songs of Oak linger, whisper again.}