Spirit of the Ancients

In mystic reverie, she stands as guardian of the forgotten lore, A bridge between worlds, where ancient secrets roar. Her face, a canvas of ritual and of art, Echoes the whispers of a long-forgotten heart. The feathers that crown her, symbols of the sky, Dance with the mist, as the trees watch silently by. Her hands, adorned with the tales of old, Rest upon the stone, where stories unfold. In this moment, time converges, past and present entwine, As she embodies the spirit, a mystic, divine design. The forest, a cathedral, where nature's hymns resound, She is the priestess, connecting earth to the mystic ground. With every glance, a tale of reverence is spun, A dance of heritage, where the sacred is won. In her stillness, a world of motion is revealed, A keeper of traditions, where the heart is healed.