A journey begins where silence speaks in the dialect of bark and branch,
A requiem for wanderers caught in the embrace of ancient woods,
Where tree trunks hum a forgotten melody, echoing through the underbrush.
In this cathedral of green, I listen — deciphering the secret tongues,
The leaves whisper tales of the moon's lost wanderings,
Stories etched upon the very fibers of living giants.
Construct a shrine of soil and sinew, seek the heart within,
For here, time crumbles into dust, laid bare by roots and stone,
Unravel the tapestry woven by the night, a requiem long shrouded.
The nightingale's tune, a cipher I strive to unbind,
From the heart of the grove, I glean the echoes of the past,
Cradled in arboreal wisdom, a path unknown beckons forth.