Path Of Time (Nature Series Part 7)

Path of Time

Whispers of branches arch above,

their arms stretched wide, bearing scars of yore,

veins etching stories in silent lore.

Golden fingers of sunlight brush through,

touching ancient bark, a quiet salute,

while leaves, half-green, half-fading rustle

in a language only the soul can hear.

An avenue of giants, rooted deep in tales,

holding up the sky as a soft echo trails.

They stand in rows, guardians of the past,

each branch a hand, guiding me vast,

toward a horizon unseen, yet near,

in the distance, faintly clear.

Like the seasons turning on a silent wheel,

I walk this path, feel the years peel.

Each step a story, each breath a rhyme—

in the shadow of these trees, I am marked by time.

©poembyselly

📸 @tomo.y9