Upon the Hill

Upon the hill, the meadow sings,
A lullaby on twilight’s wings,
The trees, like guardians, stand tall,
In whispers soft, they tell it all.

The stream hums low, a gentle tune,
Reflecting shards of rising moon,
Its waters weave through mossy stone,
A path of light where dreams have flown.

And in this stillness, hearts find rest,
A fleeting calm, a gift, a guest,
For though the world may spin and roar,
The night restores what day implores.