In the cradle of the ancient hills, where whispers of time unfold,
The weathered stones tell tales, in voices soft and old.
Each crack and crevice, a testament to days gone by,
As wind and rain carve stories, beneath the endless sky.

The gentle touch of nature, a sculptor with a plan,
Leaves marks upon the landscape, unseen by mortal man.
Through seasons ever changing, in sun and storm alike,
The earth’s own silent symphony, in patterns bold and bright.

From mountains high to valleys low, the earth’s canvas unfolds,
The weathering of time, a beauty to behold.
With every passing moment, a masterpiece is made,
A living work of art, in sun and shadow played.

So let us pause and listen, to the whispers on the breeze,
To the stories etched in stone, by time’s gentle tease.
For in the weathered landscape, a wisdom can be found,
In every grain of sand, and every rocky mound.