The city's clamor, a bruise on the soul,
But deep in the green, a balm starts to flow.
Each towering tree, a silent, wise elder,
Whispering secrets, dispelling all welter.
Sun-dappled paths, a weaver's soft thread,
Mending the worries that tangle the head.
The rustling leaves, a choir, hushed and low,
Singing of peace where all shadows go.
Rooted embrace, a mother's firm hold,
Grounding the ...