The Sage of Ancient Echoes

Seated upon the gnarled roots of time,

Amidst the whispers of mountains sublime,

There sits a sage, his gaze deep and profound,

In his stillness, the world's secrets are found.

 

Robed in the wisdom of ages long past,

His presence speaks of mysteries vast,

With a poise as immovable as the earth,

He contemplates the cycles of death and rebirth.

 

The crags and peaks are his silent kin,

Companions in solitude, thick and thin,

His spirit, a fortress that none can breach,

His silence, a language that needs no speech.

 

With a countenance carved from the very stone,

He sits in thought, utterly alone,

Yet in his solitude, a universe breathes,

In the rustle of leaves, in the wind that weaves.

 

Here, in this portrait of ancient grace,

Find the lines of time on the sage's face,

In this image, let your own thoughts trace,

The path to wisdom, to that serene place.

Done