The Forest
In the gold of the dusk, ethereal, The crimson fire of the evening sky; Emerging, the trees cast long shadows, Their trunks, like strong arms in prayer, rise high.
Windswept leaves in a rustle whisper, Rustling content in the warm lullaby. Scent of pine, where the scent is sweet, In the cloak of twilight, life holds her sighs.
The silence here is a profound mystery, A calm embraces every hidden shade; Yet in the entwined roots, a darkness sleeps, Where the whispers settle deep in the glade.
- Alexandre Blok