In the forest's embrace, a shadowed waltz begins.
Whispers spin like autumn leaves, lost but never gone.
The moss grows thick on secrets old, where light dares not tread.
"Come, dance, come, step lightly," the ancient trees murmur.
"Let the darkness guide your feet, let the silence sing your soul."
Beneath the canopy, a rhythm thrums, a heartbeat without form.
Shadows weave in hypnotic circles, forever and ever,
round and round, again and again.
In this silent rapture, who leads? Who follows?
The dance knows no beginning, no end, only the eternal now.