In the cradle of dawn, where whispers reside,
Stories of old in the shadows abide.
Ancient stones bear witness, silently they stand,
Guardians of secrets, woven by hand.

Through the tapestry of years, woven with grace,
Echoes of laughter, and tears interlace.
Kingdoms have risen, and fallen away,
Yet their spirits linger, in twilight’s soft sway.

The rivers of time, they flow and they weave,
Carrying dreams that the old souls believe.
Legends and myths, in the stars brightly glow,
Guiding the wanderers, in moonlight’s soft flow.

In the silence of night, when history calls,
We dance with the shadows, in ancient halls.
From ashes to glory, in cycles we climb,
The past is our teacher, the rhythm of time.