From fields of clover to peaks of snow, each corner of earth holds a song. The cries of nature resound, a chorus calling each moment home.

Listen to the trees, oh they speak, with voices roughened by the years. They hold the stories of seasons past, a testament written in bark and leaves.

Every breeze carries memories, every star a promise anew, a reminder that we are all part of it, each day a brush with eternity.

• Sara Teasdale