In the simple dance of morning light,
A teapot sings its gentle tune,
Steam rises like dreams yet to take flight,
In the quiet hum of a sunlit room.
The rhythm of footsteps on cobblestone streets,
Where stories are told through silent nods,
A market’s whisper, where culture meets,
In baskets woven from timeâs own threads.
Beneath the shade of an ancient tree,
Elders gather, their laughter light,
Sharing tales of what was and what will be,
In the fading glow of the setting sun.
The simple beauty of these daily rites,
In every gesture, a legacy lies,
Culture unfolds in soft, gentle sights,
Painting life with unseen ties.