By JH Sayyar
My child, years will turn your gold to gray,
And smooth skin shall bear time’s silent trace.
Yet beauty’s bloom is not the heart’s true way
It’s love that carves the soul with quiet grace.
Seek not the loud applause, nor court the vain,
For fleeting praise is like the morning dew.
Let kindness be your cloak, and bear the strain
Of life with courage, tempered strong and true
When storms arrive, as surely storms shall come,
Stand firm, but learn to bend like willow trees.
Let silence speak when bitter tongues grow numb,
And find your truth where quiet brings you peace.
My child, take heed—a gentle heart stands tall,
And love, once sown, shall bloom in spite of all.
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