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Description
The whispering pines, cloaked in twilight's shawl,
Fray at the edges of the dying sun,
While shadows stretch, long fingers down the sprawl
Of meadows hushed, where day's brief work is done.

A brook, a silver tongue, licks at the stones,
Each pebble privy to its murmured tale,
And in the brush, a hidden chorus moans,
A feathered orchestra in leafy veil.

No grand pronouncements break the quietude,
No cosmic thunder splits the tranquil sky,
But in the dance of leaves, in solitude,
A thousand dramas rise unseen, and die.

For nature's pulse, though steady, beats unseen,
In silent symphony, it weaves its plan.
The Tao whispers, not with trumpet keen,
But in the sigh of wind, the touch of rain.

It is in stillness, not in grand decree,
That mountains rise and oceans find their form,
A patient hand reshaping what we see,
In whispered wisdom, weathering the storm.

So let us stand, like pines against the night,
Rooted in trust, in darkness unafraid,
Knowing the hidden hand will set things right,
And dawn will break, by whispers gently swayed.

Description
The whispering pines, cloaked in twilight's shawl,
Fray at the edges of the dying sun,
While shadows stretch, long fingers down the sprawl
Of meadows hushed, where day's brief work is done.

A brook, a silver tongue, licks at the stones,
Each pebble privy to its murmured tale,
And in the brush, a hidden chorus moans,
A feathered orchestra in leafy veil.

No grand pronouncements break the quietude,
No cosmic thunder splits the tranquil sky,
But in the dance of leaves, in solitude,
A thousand dramas rise unseen, and die.

For nature's pulse, though steady, beats unseen,
In silent symphony, it weaves its plan.
The Tao whispers, not with trumpet keen,
But in the sigh of wind, the touch of rain.

It is in stillness, not in grand decree,
That mountains rise and oceans find their form,
A patient hand reshaping what we see,
In whispered wisdom, weathering the storm.

So let us stand, like pines against the night,
Rooted in trust, in darkness unafraid,
Knowing the hidden hand will set things right,
And dawn will break, by whispers gently swayed.