In the whisper of the soaring winds,
The mountains stand, ancient and wise,
Draped in veils of mist and shadow,
Touching the heavens, kissing the skies.

Their silent strength, a timeless tale,
Carved by the hands of the drifting clouds,
Echoes of a world untouched,
Where the heart finds solace amid the crowds.

Each stone a story, each peak a dream,
In the dance of sun and fading light,
They cradle the stars in their gentle arms,
A guardian of secrets, through endless night.

As dawn unfolds her golden wings,
The mountains breathe with ancient grace,
A beacon of hope, a realm of peace,
Where nature’s heart finds its resting place.