In the heart where natureâs whispers sing,
A village rests with ancient grace,
Embraced by fields that seasons bring,
A gentle, timeless, sacred place.
The morning sun on rooftops bright,
Casts golden hues on waking dreams,
While children chase the fading night,
Beside the softly flowing streams.
Elders speak in stories old,
Of harvests past and tales untold,
Their laughter rings in echoes bold,
In eveningâs light of amber gold.
As twilight falls on cobbled lanes,
The village sleeps beneath the stars,
Guarded by the moonâs soft chains,
In peace that neither time nor age mars.