In the land of sleepy fogs,
where the trees hum soft tunes,
tiny toes tiptoe on dew-damp earth.
Follow the path to the whispers.
A mouse wore a crown of daisies,
declaring a tea party.
Acorns tumbled like giggles
beneath the old oak's sleepy smile.
Listen to the acorns.
Clouds stitched dreams in blue skies,
unraveling threads of golden sun.
Little boats sail on puddles,
chasing horizon's forgotten song.
Sail with the sun.
Stars peek through tangled leaves,
blinking secrets at wandering dust.
Whispers of moonlight dance,
shimmering the night sky's gentle sigh.
Dance with the whispers.
In the end, the mists always call,
with tales of forgotten paths,
and journeys that never cease,
in the land of the ever-drifting dreams.