The Forest Speaks

Sometimes,

on days when it’s quiet,

and you listen closely,

the forest speaks.

It is the sound,

of a million trees,

rustling in the wind,

Of rivers flowing,

over ancient rocks,

stones,

Of the crunch of dead leaves,

littering the first floor,

walked upon by every,

animal under the sun,

The distant mournful,

cries of wolves,

howling at the moon,

The sound of woods’ soul,

the heart of the forest,

beating as one,

The forest speaks,

you just have to listen.