Riders Beneath the Moon They ride beneath the silver moon, hair streaming like rivers of night, robes ablaze with the colors of earth red as fire, blue as sky, green as the spirit that never dies. Their beauty is not a whisper, but thunder rolling through the canyon, a flame that no shadow can swallow. Eyes unpainted yet burning bright, hearts forged from the same stone that mountains bow to. They are strength wearing grace, They are rivers that carve valleys, They are wind that bends no knee. Each step of their horses shakes the ground awake, each breath carries the memory of ancestors who never surrendered. Warriors, mothers, dreamers they are the song of the land itself, the eternal promise that the earth remembers her daughters. 🎨 Serin Alar 🖊 Poem: Piahn