In the hollow of hills,
Deep holy depths beckon.
Approximated to 6.5 meters in legends,
Estimated fathomless in folklores.
Shores bedighted with
Floating reeds,
Water placid at surface.
But beneath its still facade,
Rest many stories.
Ripple.
Vortex.
Silence.
Abyssal.
As ever.
Deep holy depths beckon.
Approximated to 6.5 meters in legends,
Estimated fathomless in folklores.
Shores bedighted with
Floating reeds,
Water placid at surface.
But beneath its still facade,
Rest many stories.
Ripple.
Vortex.
Silence.
Abyssal.
As ever.
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Since every thought is a seed, I am looking forward to a delicious harvest.