Plant seeds where your heart finds its ease,
and water them with whispered dreams.
Let patience bloom in the tweed of time—
each sprout a heartbeat, green and meek.

Bask in the blush of crimson and rose,
as petals shiver in the sun’s gaze.
They ask for little, just breath and light,
yet teach the soul to hold what they give:

Not gold, but the glow of a field at dusk,
the weight of stars in a petal’s curve.
Let them wander, wild and uncurbed—
a hymn of forgetting, a root’s slow return.

And when frost comes, cold and keen,
let their seeds sleep, deep and sure,
as the story they’ve sown in the soil of your soul
winds louder than any name.