In the heart of ancient hills,
Where whispers of the past unfold,
Lies the gleaming treasure still,
The world calls it purest gold.

Rivers flow with a molten grace,
Sunbeams dance in golden streams,
Shimmering dreams in every trace,
Illuminating silent dreams.

Beneath the sky, a golden hue,
Echoes of forgotten lore,
Nature’s art in colors true,
Painting tales forevermore.

In its glow, the heart finds peace,
A warmth that stories have foretold,
In every touch, a sweet release,
Bound by the magic of gold.