i am the withered stems that hide away
looking towards the sun
graceful are my branches,
but blossoms i have none
long are my fingers that comb the sky
and young and soft shall i be when even the roses are dry
and from my gentle hands the doves in the morning fly.
i need no petals to please the bees,
but shelter them do i from the rain
as it rolls from the rooftop of my house of leaves.
i am strength
i bend yet do not break
and from my heart the smoothest wood will make
in my arms i could hold you if the earth below should shake.
the girls of the meadow
and the blossoms on the vines..
their beauty fades
but lasting beauty comes from inside
and it is truly mine.