“Do you remember,”
the oak sighed,
“the day the storm raged,
and I bent, but did not break?”

The slender birch swayed,
her bark shimmering,
“I danced with the wind,
a wild ballet,
while you stood firm,
a fortress in the tempest.”

“Together, we weathered,”
the oak replied,
“roots entwined beneath,
a tapestry of strength.”

“Yet, look,”
the birch murmured,
“how the sunlight dapples us,
each moment a gift,
each shadow a story.”

“Indeed,”
the oak pondered,
“we are more than wood and leaf,
we are the breath of this forest,
the echoes of time.”