Ink and Insight

Weathered Yet Blooming

The wind screams a battle cry, tearing at my branches,

a symphony of fury that strips me bare.

My leaves, once vibrant emeralds, swirl in a fiery dance,

sacrifices offered to the tempest's demands.

I stand resolute, roots gripping the earth's embrace,

a silent defiance against the howling sky.

Lightning streaks a jagged scar across the heavens,

but my heartwood remains unbroken, a stoic eye.

Winter's icy breath descends, a blanket of frost,

numbing the memories of summer's verdant reign.

My limbs stand stark against the monochrome canvas,

a testament to the enduring strength in my grain.

But within the slumbering depths, a promise stirs,

a silent vigil kept by the lifeblood in my core.

For even in darkness, the sap dreams of renewal,

a whispered prophecy of the buds that will be born.

Spring's gentle caress awakens the sleeping soul,

a tender kiss that melts the winter's icy hold.

New leaves unfurl, emerald flags of victory,

a triumphant banner against trials untold.

And so, the cycle continues, a dance with the unknown,

a testament to the resilience that lies within.

For I am the tree, weathered yet unbroken,

blooming anew, a symbol of strength that will always begin.