In the hush of a rural shore, an elder sits where earth meets lore. Her hands weave reeds, like threads of time, crafting purpose in life's quiet rhyme. Her graying hair, a crown of grace, each line etched deep upon her face, Tells stories of the sun and soil, of years devoted to humble toil. The ground, light-sanded, holds her care, strewn with wood and stones laid bare. Near her, remnants—planks and rope—speak of labor, endurance, hope. A net above like woven dreams, brushes skies and water streams. The tree stands tall, a silent guard, as if to honor hands that work hard. Beyond, the rippling waters shine, mirroring life—its faint design. Here, in this scene of tender grace, subsistence thrives, a steady pace. By the water's edge, where reeds entwine, she shapes her world, both old and fine.
Mundabd