In ancient stones, the stories sleep,
Carved by hands that time can’t keep.
Echoes of lives once lived and gone,
In whispers, heritage carries on.

The tapestry of ancestors, woven tight,
With threads of courage, love, and light.
Each fiber tells a tale untold,
A legacy of hearts brave and bold.

Beneath the aged, weathered wood,
Spirits linger where they once stood.
In shadows cast by history’s flame,
We find ourselves and know our name.

So let us walk this path of old,
With reverence for the tales retold.
For in our roots, we find our wings,
In heritage, the heartstrings sing.