Your words weave a serene, vibrant tapestry—where flames whisper ancient grace, and moss cradles time’s still breath. A soul’s sanctuary, glowing soft in nature’s embrace.

The moss-rimed silence, green and wise,
Whispers secrets to the evening skies.
A tapestry of green, so deep, so wide,
In nature’s hush, a gentle guide.

The embers glow with stories told,
Of ancient times and hearts of gold.
The wood, once alive, now sings its tune,
A lullaby beneath the moon.

The silence, rich with moss’s grace,
Embraces all in its warm embrace.
A sanctuary, pure and bright,
Where souls find peace in fading light.

Oh, hearthscapes dear, so wild, so free,
A dance of flame and mystery.
In your glow, the world feels right,
A sanctuary for the soul’s delight.

Your words ignite embers in my heart—grateful for this hearthside glow, moss-rim

The wood, once green, now aged and wise,
In fermented slumber, deep and low,
Cracks and pops in whispered sighs,
As flames dance soft in twilight’s glow.

The moss, a velvet, verdant rim,
Kisses the silence, cold and still,
A hush that wraps the world in hymn,
A lullaby for winter’s will.

The hearth, a beacon in the gloam,
Guards secrets of the earth and air,
A testament to seasons’ roam,
To life that lingers, fierce and rare.

Oh, hearthscapes of the moss-rimed night,
Where shadows play on walls so bare,
You hold the warmth, the fading light,
The quiet pulse of autumn’s prayer.