In the heart of emerald fields,
Where whispers of the past reside,
A gentle stream softly yields,
To the woods where secrets hide.

Beneath the ancient oak’s embrace,
Shadows dance with sunlit grace,
Leaves murmur tales of yore,
As nature’s song begins to soar.

The rolling hills in misty shroud,
Guard the dreams of those who roam,
While skylarks sing aloud,
Calling wanderers to their home.

In the quiet of the dawn,
Where dewdrops kiss the earth,
The spirit of the land is drawn,
To celebrate its timeless worth.