Whispers of the Emerald Ruins

Beneath a canopy of whispering leaves,
A sentinel of time, silently grieves,
The ruins breathe the tales of yore,
For the days of splendor, lost evermore.

The lady in green, with quiet grace,
Stands before the temple's fallen embrace,
A moment’s pause in the forest’s heart,
Where nature and history blend into art.

Veiled in mist, the morning's guest,
By gentle light of dawn caressed,
She gazes on as if to glean,
The secrets kept by the emerald queen.