Where sunlight dapples, leaves descend,
A spirit dwells, a woodland friend.
Her hair, a cascade of rich brown hue,
Woven with moss and kissed with dew.
Eyes of emerald, deep and bright,
Hold the wisdom of ancient light.
She watches the seasons turn and flow,
Secrets the whispering wild things know.
Her lips, a curve of rosewood grace,
Hum with the forest’s gentle pace.
A song of birds within her sigh,
As ancient trees reach for the sky.
She walks among the ferns and bloom,
Dispelling shadows, lifting gloom.
A guardian spirit, wild and free,
The heart of the wood, for all to see.
Her touch can heal a wounded vine,
Awaken blossoms, truly divine.
A whisper of magic, soft and low,
Where the wildwood flowers grow.
She is the rustle of leaves unseen,
The silver shimmer of a moonlit sheen.
Daughter of the Greenwood, forever bound,
To the sacred silence of hallowed ground.
