ALEEN ROSE

A single tree may feel the gale, And think its lonely strength will fail. But roots below, entwined and deep, A silent, stronger promise keep.

They said the vase had met its end, A thousand pieces, could not mend. But patience took a pot of gold, And made a story yet untold.

The mighty oak may crack and break, The willow only bends and sways. Its strength is not in rigid form, But in its dance within the storm.

The fading light, a softened hand, Lays yesterday across the land. Then in the quiet, deep and true, The promise of the morning blooms for you.

The wind through pines, a whispered note, The same strong chord in your own throat. The oak stands firm, though branches strain, A mirror to your silent, deep refrain.

The water holds the sky's soft light, Then flows beyond the mountain's height. It does not cling, it does not mourn, It greets the waiting, golden morn.

With gentle hands, review the years, The fragile stems, the unshed tears. Then plant the seed, and trust the sun, A new day has begun.

In the stillness of the pond, A truth the water understands. Not a struggle, not a fight But opening to gentle light.

No frantic rush, no desperate flight, But one slow turn to meet the light. Each inch of growth, a quiet vow, This is how the blossoms now.

No force can make the rivers run, Or rush the orbit of the sun. So still the hands that push and strain, And let your soul move like the rain.

A flash of gold against the deep, A secret that the dusk will keep. Not meant to last, but just to be A moment's wild eternity.

The sunrise touches every face, A silent call to find your grace. A single spark the dark denies, Now meet the morning with your eyes.

The sunrise touches every face, A silent call to find your grace. A single spark the dark denies Now meet the morning with your eyes.

The stone that wears the age of storms, The quiet where the heart reforms. It does not fight the wind's sharp song, It learns the peace of being strong.