Atlas

Atlas

In quiet rooms where paper sighs, An atlas lies, a world in fold, Its pages whisper ancient cries, Of mountains brave and seas untold.

Each continent a coloured chart, Where rivers trace the amber line, And cities gleam like beating heart, Within the ink‑stained, steadfast design.

We turn the leaf, the globe unfolds, From Dover’s cliffs to Sydney’s shore, A Titan’s burden gently holds, The dreams of wanderers evermore.

So let us trace with careful hand, The routes that brave explorers trod, For in this atlas, vast and grand, We find the world—and find our God.