From silver wings, the earth unfolds- a quilt of green and amber sown,
where mountains rise like ancient bones, and rivers stitch the seams of stone.

Beneath, a sea of clouds resides, a silent storm of petal-tides,
their crests unmarred, their waves unstirred- A realm where echoes go unheard.

Here, dawn ignites the froth to gold, and twilight dips its bruise-soft hold,
while tempests bloom in distant veils, a dance of calm where lightning sails.

The alps, in white, to heaven kneel, while deserts whisper rusted zeal;
each forest breathes, each canyon sighs- A hymn the stars alone chastise.

Yet from this height, all strife seems small: The cities, mere specks, break and sprawl,
as nature’s pulse, unbound, prevails- A song no wing or wind derails.

So let me drift where clouds compose- Their endless verse of sunlit snows,
where earth and heaven’s hues diffuse, proclaim the world’s unending muse.