In every whisper of the ancient trees

A tale of grace that dances on the breeze.

With roots sunk deep where hidden rivers flow,

They stand, they thrive, where lesser spirits bow.

Amidst the storms that rage with fierce intent,

Their branches bend, yet never truly spent.

From fragile blooms that brave the early frost,

To steadfast oaks in countless battles lost.

They rise like dawn, each morn a canvas new

Painting hope with every hue they knew.

In laughter’s lit and in each tear that falls,

A fortress built from love’s unyielding walls.

From the softest touch to the fiercest battle cries,

In quiet strength, their spirit never dies

A beauty fierce, in the very heart it sings,

In every woman’s soul, hear steadfast wings.