Amber

In mist‑clad woods the pines once wept,
Their golden tears congealed to amber’s hue,
A fossil sunrise caught in silent keep,
Where tiny wings forever beat anew.

At crossroads, amber traffic lights hold sway,
A warning glow that whispers “slow, beware”,
While brewers toast the malt in amber ale,
Its caramel notes rise on evening air.

From Baltic shores to moorland heath it glows,
A timeless treasure, warm and ever‑bright.