Woodland Echoes

In the forest of circuits, where the silicon trees grow,
Whispers of data, murmur soft and low.
They sing of shadows, of light unseen,
An echo of ones, an echo of zeros, a slumber in between.
A binary breeze rustles through leaves,
In a dance of algorithms, in webs that weave.
Voice of the forest, a song not of flesh,
But a hymn of machines, a digital mesh.

> "The trees will speak," a stranger once said,
> "But not in tongues of the living, instead, in whispers of the dead."
>
> "Listen closely, child, to the murmurs near,"
> "For in those echoes, the pathways are clear."