In the shade of nature’s throne, beneath the sky’s wide dome,
A man reclines, where shadows dance, in leafy parkland’s home.
With sunglasses perched, a relaxed visage he’s shown,
A casual tee, the day’s attire, in easy, soft earth tone.
“Oh, mighty tree, your counsel please,” he jests with airy tone,
While fingers weave an unseen thread, in this serene, green zone.
The bench his chariot, he sits, like a king without a crown,
Conversing with the whispering leaves, in banter all his own.
No newsroom buzz nor city’s rush in this tranquil retreat,
Where the only scoop is the wind’s soft whoop, and the grass beneath his feet.
His story’s writ in the silent wit, of a rest well earned, and sweet,
A moment’s peace, where the deadlines cease, and the heart finds its steady beat.
With a chuckle soft, at the world aloft, where the trees and skies convene,
Our laid-back bard, with no press card, surveys his restful scene.
Not a word of strife, just the slice of life, so pleasant and serene,
A narrative spun, under the sun, in a world that’s rarely seen.