She walks through storms with flowers in hand,
Not to tame the wind ā but to understand.
The world calls her fragile, soft as dew,
But her heart holds galaxies they never knew.
She speaks in hush, yet mountains bow,
To the grace that clings to her sacred vow.
Her tears are stars that fell too soon,
Her laughter ā a dance with the silver moon.
She's not a song you hear in the crowd,
She's the silence that sings when you're not too loud.
Not everyone sees her ā and that's just fine,
Only the true will feel her shine.
So let them think she's just a name ā
A soul unseen, a quiet flame.
But she is fire, ocean, root, and sky...
She loves, she falls, she dreams ā she flies.
By: - WIN VENTURA
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem