May 13. 2025
I cradle giants with iron skin, yet never move, though tides begin. My arms stretch wide, a shelter true, for ships that roam the ocean blue. Though made of stone, I breathe the sea; guess what steadfast place I be?
May 13. 2025
I cradle giants with iron skin, yet never move, though tides begin. My arms stretch wide, a shelter true, for ships that roam the ocean blue. Though made of stone, I breathe the sea; guess what steadfast place I be?