Beneath the sky’s eternal dome,
The ancient rocks begin to groan,
As winds and rains, with gentle wear,
Carve stories in the stones laid bare.

Time’s hand moves with silent grace,
Etching lines upon Earth’s face,
Each crack and crevice, a tale to tell,
Of nature’s whisper, a silent spell.

Storms rage and calm returns,
Seasons pass as the planet turns,
Erosion’s dance, a timeless art,
Sculpting landscapes, a masterful part.

Through valleys deep and mountains high,
Weathering’s touch, none can deny,
The endless cycle, fierce yet tender,
Earth’s evolving, a wondrous splendor.