Beneath the densest shade of sorrow’s grove, A sapling yearned for whispers of the dawn. Its tender roots with ‘han’ began to rove, In search of solace from the pain withdrawn.
The teen, like shoots, in shadows did contend, With dreams of light that through the canopies, Would break and on the forest floor descend, To lift the veil of darkened legacies.
But growth, a journey fraught with silent pleas, Reached for the sky, where sun’s embrace awaits. Yet, in its triumph, found no gentle ease, For scorching rays did seal the sapling’s fates.
In reaching heights, the burn of truth was clear, The sun of hope was but a dream to sear.
submitted by /u/JesperTV
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