The roots are what makes her unyielding,
Through the darkest of nights,
And the bitterest of colds.
Even when all her leaves weep to earth,
The ground beneath keeps a hold.
And such a peace does she find,
When winter leaves her
Without all her beauty and grace,
Because that's the only season,
When she finally meets her true self.
Again.
YOU ARE READING
Handwritten
Poetry"Sometimes I wonder If this is how it's supposed to be Can I make a choice ? Or is it all meant to be?"...
