The silent symphonies play
upon the ivory bark,
dancing curls of fables sing
in spiraled soliloquies.
Listen! The giants hum,
a timbre soft, unbroken,
through crescent years and
moonlit shadows cascade.
A shadowed figure etched on bark, whispering:
"The circles cradle truths, infinite yet finite
In every ring, a chapter, a whispered thought
The language of growth—unspoken yet profound."
Enigmatic phrasings rehearsed
In the silence of the old woods
Between breaths—a pause, a thought