Through the mist I wander, slow,
Where ancient ferns in silence grow.
The air is thick with damp and green,
A secret world, where few have been.

The trees rise up like ghostly spires,
Their roots entwined in earth’s desires.
A gentle breeze hums through the fronds,
A quiet song of distant bonds.

Each step is soft, a whispered tread,
As mist curls up, then softly spreads.
The ferns unfold in velvet sheets,
A carpet where the silence meets.

Above, the canopy is veiled,
Where light and shadow intertwine,
And in the hush, I feel the pulse
Of time untold, a world divine.

I breathe the cool, the damp, the green,
A part of this forgotten scene.
In this misty, fern-filled place,
I find both stillness and grace.

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