In the garden of existence, like a rose in bloom,
Hope unfurls its petals, radiant and sublime.
Yet, as fate intervenes, plucking its tender form,
It yields to mortality's touch, gracefully resigned.

But does death mark the end, the final decree?
Or does it echo the cycle of life's eternal plea?
For in the quiet surrender of a kernel's fall,
Lies the promise of resurrection, hope's clarion call.

Beyond the confines of mortal decree,
Hope transcends, boundless and free.
While death may claim its transient sway,
Hope endures, casting shadows away.

As seasons turn and trees shed their guise,
Their stumps decay, under nature's guise.
Yet, with the whisper of water's embrace,
New life emerges, in a wondrous chase.

For every tree, there lies hope's embrace,
In every withered leaf, a promise of grace.
Just as the tree finds solace in renewal's spree,
Hope abounds, an eternal decree.