The Whispering Veil

Beneath the hush of ancient trees,
Where dappled light drifts on the breeze,
A veil of silver water sighs,
Its voice as soft as lullabies.

It dances down with a cool caress,
Through moss and stone in quiet dress.
Each droplet sings a gentle song—
A hymn to time, serene and long.

The woodland breathes in hush on hush,
A sacred stillness, green and lush.
The flowing stream, the rustling fern—
In every note, the spirits turn.

Dark logs lie low with a velvet sheen,
Bridges through realms of emerald green.
No step may cross, yet minds may stray,
To where the light and waters play.

The green here holds a deeper glow,
Where only softest footsteps go.
Ferns whisper truths from long ago,
And ivy clings to thoughts we know.

The scent of earth, of birch and pine,
Of roots that twist and intertwine—
It stirs the past, clears ancient air,
And leaves the soul stripped true and bare.

The water’s touch is sharp, yet kind,
It smooths the grief we leave behind.
Each ripple, fall, and curling seam
Unwinds the heart and frees the dream.

A mirror breaks, reforms, and flows—
It shows what silent knowing knows.
For time does not rush here, but bends—
It loops and lingers, never ends.

Here sorrow softens, joy seeps in,
The stream forgives, it lifts the skin.
What weight we bear, we lay it low
Within its calm, forgiving flow.

And in that hush, a self is found,
Untied from time, unchained, unbound.
For here, beneath the greenwood veil,
All burdens lift, and hearts exhale.