The wine of our hills is a sweetness drawn from the earth that once held only my tears. I am gathering the scattered light, planting a strength that defies the frost, and tending to a garden no one else can see.
The greatest riches are not found in silver or stone, but in the quiet resolve of a soul that has learned to build bridges out of shadows. I am perfecting the path in the silence of my own devotion—a slow and sacred becoming, blooming beneath my feet.
There is a Zenith to this labor,
An Omen of a brighter day,
An Echo of a name I carry in my pulse,
Yearned for in every breath until the secret is finally told.
submitted by /u/Vast-Character1035
[link] [comments]