The Sylvestrian Echo

When wisps of ivy murmurs caress,
the winter crown rests upon longing-held sentiments.

Crystalline sighs journey through oaks,
etching secrets whispered in shadows, cloaked beneath bark.

Entangled vines speak in gentle rustle-tongue,
a union beckoning root and reintegrating soul.

Revelry of moonlit canopies,
kneading time-glass grains through verdant tender flutter.

Close your eyes and read the arboreal hymn; follow where the roots entwine dreams into dawn gleams.