from molten depths...a story spun...of lava's rage...a battle won...no smooth facade... no polished grace...but rugged stones in wild embrace...a steeple rose...a jagged crown...of fractured rock...piled up and down...no mason's hand... no measured line...but nature's art...a raw design...each stone a tale...from fire's breath...of earth's upheaval...life and death... balanced upon each they stood...a fragile might...subject to sun...storm...and night...the winds would howl...the rains would lash... against the stones...with thunder's crash...the snow would fall...a silent shroud...and dress the steeple...stark and proud...but through it all... the structure held...a testament to the stories spelled...for on each stone...a mark was made...by time's own hand...a price was paid... new beginnings etched in lines...of weathering...ancient signs...a history whispered...soft and low...of ages past and trails to go... a crow's harsh call...a lonely sound...echoed across the frozen ground...a cotton tail in snowy nest...sought shelter and a moment's rest... life's fragile pulse...steady beat...against the stones...a rhythm so sweet...the sky above...a canvas wide...where memories in light could ride... through clouds they streamed...in golden rays...of bygone years and future days...the steeple of stone...a willing guide... as time's own river flowed and sighed...a monument to change and chance...a rugged beauty...a wild romance...of stone and sky and earth's embrace... a timeless wonder in this place...the lava's legacy...thought so grand...was a steeple built on shifting sand...