In a village tucked beneath the hills,
Where misty mornings weave through chill,
A young boy played beneath the skies,
Chasing dreams where rivers lie.

No streets of gold, no city lights,
Just fireflies to guide the night,
With laughter echoing through the glen,
And fields as vast as endless plains.

He learned to read from the leaves of trees,
Spoke to the wind and whispered seas,
Grew up with tales of ancient lore,
Where elders’ words were wisdom’s core.

The early 20s came with haste,
Carrying whispers of a world that waits,
Beyond the mountains and the streams,
A realm beyond his childhood dreams.

But still, he roams those simple lands,
Where life is woven in God’s own hands,
A child of earth, of sky, and rain,
Forever in that village, he remains.