Even though the road was rough with thorn and cry,
And nights fell heavy on your weathered brow.
Still, morning leaned its gold against the sky,
And dared you to begin again somehow.
The storms have carved their truth upon your skin,
With winds that sang of loss, and rains that stung.
Yet in their rage, they taught the strength within,
The song you’d never known your soul had sung.
But oh, remember, not just dark and gale,
Not just the hollow ache of trials passed.
There were sunrises soft and sunsets pale,
That held you close when nothing else could last.
A hush of fire upon the waking hill,
A lavender goodbye across the sea.
These moments, small and luminous and still,
Were love’s own way of setting your heart free.
So walk, dear soul, through shadow and through light,
And let each dawn restore what storms have worn.
For even sorrow, tempered by the night,
Must kneel in grace when golden day is born.
