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 spirit, stories untold.

The air, a pure draught, refreshing and deep,

Promises healing, secrets to keep.