Mountains rise like ancient gods,
Veiled in mist and mystery,
Their peaks a canopy to clouds,
Guarding sacred history.

Streams that trickle down the slopes,
Cardamom and cinnamon grace,
With each drop, a melody flows,
Nature’s hymn in wildest space.

Ode to the stone and soil below,
Rugged paths where journeys start,
The wilderness, a fiery heart,
Awakening the soul to grow.

• Andrej Ērgļs