They chose a kingdom near the leaning pines,
where the shadows stitched a rugged quilt.
Behind the shed, the land breathed freedom—
a boscage bristling with untamed whispers.
With branches broken from the sleeping elm,
and cardboard pilfered from bygone seasons,
they raised walls that creaked with innocence.
The scent of bark and soil became their bond.
No boundary but the wild they reigned in—
a realm of leaves where echoes softened.
Their laughter trailed the dappled light,
until twilight bent the edges of their world.
The earth remembered where their hands had played,
the boughs still swayed with phantom touches.
Tired, they sought the silence of their fortress,
hearts stitched to the sigh of unseen creatures.
At dawn, the fort would stand, defiant still,
as if to prove the fleeting could linger.
Above them, crows wove arcs against the sky,
their kingdom bearing witness, rooted in time.