In the garden, flowers hum tunes, teaching bees to dance.
Close your eyes, imagine, twirl with clouds.
Below the silver pond, a secret boat waits, carved by moonlight,
whispers of wind guide silent sails.
The old oak knows tales of the misty morning,
listen close, with a heart that's open wide like a storybook.
Poking the ground, tiny hands find treasures,
not gold, but stories hidden where roots hold dreams.