In the heart of the hills where the wildflowers sway,
I found a place to linger when the world turns grey.
With a crackling fire and the stars shining bright,
I’ll carve out my solace in the hush of the night.
The wind carries stories in its gentle embrace,
Of wanderers and dreamers who once found their place.
Among the tall pines where the shadows play,
I’ll hum my old song, let the silence weigh.
Chorus of the crickets, a symphony clear,
Filling the quiet with all that I hold dear.
Each note a reminder of the life I’ve known,
In these hills of solitude, I’ve made my home.
The embers are glowing, casting flickers of gold,
As the moon rises high, a guardian old.
I sway to the rhythm of the night’s tender tune,
And dance with my memories beneath silvered moon.
With every soft whisper, I feel the embrace,
Of the wood and the fire, in this sacred space.
The worries of yesterday drift far out of sight,
In the warmth of this moment, everything feels right.
So I’ll cherish the silence, the peace that it brings,
Writing my story with the songs that I sing.
In the hills where the wild winds roam free and untamed,
I’ll wrap up my heart, in solitude unclaimed.
And when sunrise beckons, I’ll rise with the dawn,
With the woodsmoke and whispers, forever drawn.
For in the dance of the fire and the soft evening sigh,
I find my true self, as the stars bid goodbye.
Folk
Wood, fire, song, hills, solitude