Beneath the boughs of ancient trees, Where memories dance upon the breeze, The world outside can fade away, And in these woods, at last, we play.

Amongst the brambles, laughter weaves, In shadows cast by autumn leaves. The roots run deep in hidden ground, A place where silence can be found.

In every rustle, nature breathes, Life’s stories linger there, it weaves. Hold on to these, let shadows host; In nature’s arms, we find our post.

• Philip Larkin