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.

It bows its head to wind and rain, To rise up tall and straight again. Its hollow core is not a flaw,, It's how it learns the tempest's law.

The river does not fight the stone, It simply finds a path of its own. Its power is a yielding grace, A constant flow that wins the race.