In the cradle of the ancient stone,
Where whispers of the wind have grown,
Time carves its tale with gentle grace,
A dance of ages in this place.
The rain descends, a soft embrace,
Kissing the earth with a tender trace,
Each drop a sculptor, patient and wise,
Transforming landscapes beneath the skies.
The sun, a silent sentinel high,
Watches as mountains crumble and sigh,
Its warmth a partner to the relentless rain,
Together crafting valleys from terrain.
In this symphony of natureâs song,
The earth endures, weathered yet strong,
A testament to the passage of days,
In weatheringâs art, the world displays.