In days of yore, a tale is cast, Of self and land, by hand enmast. With paper keen and pencil vast, I scribe my heart in shadow's vast. The mountains rise, they stand so fast, In humble lines my being's past. Though storms may come and skies overcast, My loyal dreams, like flags, held steadfast. In ink and lead, my spirit's contrast, Alive with hope, by daylight's blast. A dance of words, forever to last, In heritage rich, our future's forecast. With every stroke, a world amassed, In quiet strength where journeys are cast. Oh self and nation, bound, steadfast, In unity forged, our ties shall outlast.