In the forest’s heart where the sun sleeps at noon,
The whispers of branches kiss softly like a tune;
Each shadow a secret, each rustle a sigh,
In this sacred domain, I can’t help but cry.

The creek babbles sweetly, a child of the glen,
It sings to the stones, to the trees, once again,
Every ripple, a memory, every drop, a dream,
In this cathedral of Nature, all things are redeemed.

Let me weave with the ferns, let me dance with the dew,
In this realm of enchantment where all life feels new;
For here I discover that time has no sway,
A timeless, pure moment, in the woods where I stay.

• Marcel Proust