Ancient Citadel

In the realm of ancient stones, where history whispers tales of old, Two citadels stand, their grandeur never to grow cold. The topmost, a sepia-hued dream, with walls that rise so high, A fortress built on verdant hills, where clouds drift lazily by. Its architecture a testament to a bygone era's might, A symbol of power, a beacon in the fading light. The lower, in monochrome grace, a city by the river's flow, Where ancient structures tell the stories of a civilization's glow. The river below, a lifeline, where boats and people roam, A bustling scene, a dance of life, in this historic home. Both scenes, a window to the past, a glimpse of what's been, A reminder of the beauty that our ancestors have penned. In their stones, their walls, their grandeur, we find our own tale, A reflection of our dreams, our struggles, our never-ending gale.