Life
Life
The sun climbs up with golden hands,
To wake the sleeping, silent lands.
A breath of mist, a morning dew,
The world is born and starts anew.
In cradle soft and nursery light,
The soul begins its curious flight,
With eyes that see but do not know,
The miles of road it has to go.
The childhood years are fields of green,
Where every stone is yet unseen,
A game of chase, a wooden sword,
The simple joy a heart can hoard.
But noon arrives with heat and fire,
The restless pulse of youth's desire,
To climb the peak, to sail the deep,
And promises we swear to keep.
We weave our threads of silk and wool,
In patterns jagged, bright, and full.
A thread of love, a thread of loss,
A bridge of hope we try to cross.
Sometimes the loom will snag and break,
From every choice and soul-mistake,
Yet even knots can form a part,
Of the grand design within the heart.
The storm will come with thundering gray,
To wash the easy paths away.
It tests then timber, bends the bough,
And forces us to stand our ground.
For strength is born in wind and rain,
A resilience etched through quiet pain,
Like Good Timber that learns to grow,
Where fierce and biting tempests blow.
Then comes the dusk, a softer glow,
Where weary rivers start to slow.
The frantic race for gold and name,
Becomes a flickering, gentle flame.
We sit beneath the ancient tree,
And look back at what we've seen
For life is not a single day,
Nor just the words we choose to say.
It is the rhythm,in which we walk ànd the kindness we do show
It is the courage found in letting go.
It is the act of Seeing It Through,
Whilst keep the spirit brave and true, It's the joy within every child laughter. Until it's our time has come and we move on to what's ever after.
Copyright © Rena riches | Year Posted 2026
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