At the foot of the tree where the sunbeams dance,
The grass moist with dew, a shimmering glance,
The petals unfold as daylight awakes,
In colors so vibrant, the heart softly quakes.

Butterflies flit on the scent of sweet blooms,
Nature’s own canvas, where beauty resumes.
Each leaf a whisper in the soft gentle air,
A revelation, a moment, so precious, so rare.

Oh, to linger in shadows under branches full-grown,
With silence unbroken, feeling never alone,
In gardens of wonder where time stands still,
With Nature, our mother, our spirits to fill.

• Marcel Proust