In stillness rests the hidden way,
where wind and water softly play.
The stones remain, the rivers bend—
each finds its peace, each finds its end.
The mountain stands, the valley yields,
both serve the earth, both shape the fields.
In giving space, they find their height,
each shadowed form creates the light.
A leaf will fall, a seed will grow,
and by this trade, all things will know
the pulse of life, the quiet breath,
the dance of birth, the pause of death.
As seasons turn, so we unfold,
new hands to touch, new dreams to hold.
In letting go, the heart can see
all it will lose, yet come to be.
Thus silence hums, as rivers flow;
no need to push, no need to know.
What’s born from peace will soon be free—
the heart, the soul, infinity.
No comments:
Post a Comment