Sleeping Giants

Beneath a veil of emerald shade,
Where sun and whispering waters braid,
A secret glade lies hushed and deep,
Where giants rest in timeless sleep.

Two fallen titans, broad and worn,
With bark like armour, weather-torn,
Now bridge the stream in silent grace—
A cradle for the waterfall’s face.

Their backs are soaked with silver spray,
As waters leap, then dance away,
Cascading down through moss and stone,
In tones that hush the world’s loud moan.

The woodland listens, still and wise,
With ferns like feathers brushing skies.
Cool mist curls soft on trembling skin—
A sacred hush that draws you in.

The water sings a lullaby,
Its song a breath, a mournful sigh,
Of days when roots gripped earth so tight,
Before they fell to fading light.

Yet now they serve a nobler part,
Protectors of this beating heart—
A brook that weeps, then laughs again,
Untroubled by the loss or gain.

Their limbs embrace the rushing tide,
As though to say, we still abide.
Though age and storm have bowed us low,
We guard the stream; we guide its flow.

And as you stand on moss-cloaked rock,
You feel the pulse beneath the shock—
Of water, wild, fierce and free,
And time’s eternal mystery.

The woodland holds you, breathless, bare,
Its voice a hymn, its silence a prayer.
And in this place, the world grows small—
A dream beneath the giants’ thrall.

Here time moves slow, or not at all,
Where water sings and leaves will fall.
And in this stillness, one can hear
The breath of life—so faint, so near.

Leave your name, your noise, your fear,
The sleeping giants hold you here.
In ancient arms and water’s grace,
You find yourself—your truest place.

So stand awhile and do not speak—
Let spirit rest, let silence speak.
For in the stream, and roots, and stone,
You’ll find you’re never quite alone.