In sacred groves where ancient spirits dwell,
The hallowed ground breathes whispers of the past,
A timeless realm where mortal footsteps fell,
And echoes of devotion ever last.
Beneath the boughs of wisdom’s ageless trees,
The air is thick with reverence and awe,
A sanctum where the weary find their ease,
And seekers glimpse the truths beyond our law.
Here, in this consecrated space of yore,
The veil between the worlds grows gossamer-thin,
As mystic energies from shore to shore,
Converge to cleanse the soul of worldly sin.
In hallowed halls, where time stands still, we find
The sacred key to free the fettered mind.
Source: 1
Bob Lynn / 31-Oct-2024
