The morning breaks with golden lace,
upon the ancient, sun-warmed place.
The air is sweet with fragrant thyme,
a gentle song of summer time.

The water holds the sun's warm light,
a liquid jewel, clear and bright.
The endless sky, a canvas vast,
a joy designed to always last.

No past, no future, nothing's known,
just silent truths on every stone.
The cicadas sing their rhythmic praise,
through endless, sun-drenched, old golden days.