Named Paradise Poem by Dona Jean

Walking through the moistly ground
Slowly with the bare foot;
Glancing at the enormous woods to found,
Birds making a sound of flute.

Taking the path to nowhere,
Unblocking the leaves that passes by;
Follow the light seen somewhere;
A melody's tune like a lullaby.

The wind that breaks the stillness
of the leaves that stays calm,
It kept hanging on the firm branches;
and swaying sweetly like a purple plum.

'Twas perfectly molded by the creator wise,
with colorful butterflies and surrounding green,
It's the perfect home called paradise.