Sound of Canopy

In the heart of Vietnam, where the river runs slow,
Silver threads of water in a silent, steady flow.
Rain taps the leaves in a whispering dance,
While the windmill turns in a steady trance.

Birds hum low in the morning haze,
Their songs like echoes from ancient days.
The air smells of jasmine and red clay earth,
Each breeze a story, each drop a rebirth.