In shadows deep, where whispers dwell,
the creek winds on, an ancient spell.
With murmurs soft, like secrets shared,
it cradles sort, long lost and bared.
Beneath the boughs, where silence clings,
mushrooms rise with ghostly wings.
Pale sentinels in dampened night,
they drink the moon’s forgotten light.
A twisted root, a gnarled tree,
hold memories of what used to be;
the water flows with stories grim,
of lovers lost on a moonlight whim.
Their shadows dance in twilight’s grasp
as nature’s hands entwine and clasp.
So wander here, where shadows play,
by creeks that sigh at the close of day;
embrace the dark, the secrets kept,
in nature’s arms, where dreams have wept.