In whispered groves where tall trees stand, Artisans' dreams are softly planned. With practiced hands and eyes that care, They shape the soul in rocking chair. Each grain and curve, a story told, Of wood transformed to gleaming gold. The whispers of the forest, near, In every turn, in every sphere. Crafted by hearts that truly see, The dance of life in a fallen tree. A seat of solace, hand-laid with care, A journey rests in rocking chair.