In a meadow where dreams touch the sky, there lies a sleeping orchestra.
The conductor dances not by sight, but by sound unseen.
A gentle wave of secrets, carried softly on the wind.
Hush now, little bird: Secrets of the strings, they hum quietly,
Telling stories of rain and dew drops on gleaming blades of grass.
The silent rituals, a language without words,
Flowing like rivers beneath a starry night.
Did you hear it? The echo of a gentle nod?
The trees know. They sway to the conductor's secret symphony.