To the moonlit whispers and the stars' quiet grooves,
Here lies the narrative etched in bark and leaf, a meditative echo resonant with the cosmic pulse.
Follow the spiral arms of our silent galaxy, undulating like the soft dance of elder fern fronds.
Listen to the whispers of the cedar, keys carved by time into its ancient rings.
In the hush, in the starlit canopy overhead, a secret murmurs, encrypted by roots and branches.
Beyond stellar nonsense, the oak stands vigilant, your arboreal compass through celestial sentiments.