In the whisper of leaves, in the mountain’s breath, Lives a spirit untouched by life or death. Hyang they call it, a presence divine, In the world unseen, where they eternally shine.

Guardians of rivers, of trees, and the skies, Echoes of blessings where the wild heart lies. No temple to house them, no man can confine, For they dwell in the essence of nature’s design.

To the hyang, offerings laid with care, A plea, a thanks, a quiet prayer. In their unseen world of endless grace, They guide, protect, in their sacred space.

But times have shifted, beliefs rearranged, Yet their whispers in nature remain unchanged. For in the rustle of leaves, in the winds that sing, The spirit of hyang is forever a king.