In shadows cast by ancient trees,
Their whispers float on gentle breeze,
Echoes of lives and dreams once spun,
Beneath the golden, setting sun.

Through rivers flowing, stories weave,
Of battles fought, and hearts that grieve,
In silent nights, their voices call,
To guide us when the darkness falls.

Mountains hold their solemn gaze,
Watching o’er the passing days,
Their wisdom etched in stone and ground,
In every leaf and branch around.

Ancestors’ spirits walk beside,
A lineage of strength and pride,
In dreams they come, to light our way,
Through night to greet a brand new day.