Beneath a veil of leaves where time is swept away,
an echo of roots no one can hear.
The dryad dances, sorrow in her eyes –
the forest her heart, its joy long gone.
A spark in shadow, a final gleam,
broken branches circling in her dance.
The trees fall silent, their song dissolves,
while the wind chants softly of dying.
Clad in leaves like mourning cloth,
the earth withers in her hands.
The roots suffocate, life cries out –
yet she keeps dancing, beyond all time.
Where once life flourished, only dust remains.
The sky grows dim, the soul turns numb.
The dryad lingers, her whisper fading,
in a dance of farewell
as the forest disappears.
