Beneath the shadow of forgotten mountains,
the tales carved into sandstone sleep,
murmuring secrets of unfathomable journeys,
woven from sunlight and shadow.
The touch of time—an artist's brush on
the canvas of granite and whispering dunes,
crafting echoes of lives once luminous,
now quiet, biding their moment beneath the soil.
Listen closely, the wind speaks in tongues
only the ancient know, coursing
through the hollow crystal veins of Earth,
singing of origins, of kingdoms built of whispers.