“She Wears Her Roots”
In threads of maroon and whispers of gold,
She wears stories that never grow old.
Each fold of silk, a memory spun,
Of mothers, of daughters, of battles won.
Her back to the world, calm and bare,
She gathers her hair with gentle care.
The rooflines echo an ancient song,
Where pigeons perch and dusk is long.
And in that quiet, sacred air,
She stands — tradition and strength