Beneath the cold stone crust, whispers lie cocooned,
Suspended n scripts unwritten and songs unsung,
Each granite poem carries echoes from the deep cosmos,
Dreaming in vibrations of ancient nocturnes.
We wind through veins of jewelled tension,
Threads of silica spun in forgotten melodies,
A symphony in stillness, resounding softly,
Vast spaces asleep below our tender soil.