The Resilience of a Flower Amidst the Tempest's Fury

Beneath the calm and gentle sky,

A flower blooms with colors high.

Its velvet petals, soft and bright,

Gleam in the tender morning light.

With grace, it sways, a silent song,

Among the meadows, proud and strong.

Its roots reach deep in soil below,

Where whispers of the earth bestow.

The breeze around it softly hums,

A day of peace, where nature drums.

But far away, the skies grow dark,

A storm approaches, fierce and stark.

The winds, they change, with sudden might,

Turning day to trembling night.

Clouds gather, thick as shadowed gloom,

The storm prepares to seal its doom.

The flower stands, though fear does rise,

Its leaves do tremble, yet it tries.

The first drops fall, a warning call,

Yet it holds firm and does not fall.

Lightning cracks the fragile air,

And thunder rolls without a care.

The winds, they howl, the torrents rain,

But still the bloom endures the pain.

Its slender stem, now bent and torn,

Holds fast despite the tempest’s scorn.

The earth around it soaked and wet,

But still, the flower stands, and yet—

It bends, it sways, it dances still,

Fighting with its iron will.

For every gust, for every scream,

The flower clings to hope and dream.

The storm, enraged, begins to roar,

But the bloom holds its own once more.

With roots that grasp the soil so tight,

It fights the storm throughout the night.

The hours pass, the storm subsides,

The bloom now breathes, its courage bides.

Drenched in rain, though bent and worn,

It stands, a symbol newly born.

Though shaken by the winds and rain,

The flower’s beauty does remain.

And as the sun breaks through the cloud,

It stands, defiant, strong, and proud.

In every drop of rain it bears,

A tale of strength, of endless prayers.

For in the storm, though torn apart,

The flower’s will becomes its heart.