//.....The poem symbolises me to be a a tree. A tree with all of his patience, gentle and kind nature who stands still even in those heavy storms, who stands still even though the clouds have burst and it stands still even in those sunny summer days providing us his shades.....//
In the soil of hope, My loam soil gets apart down the slope.
Alike those little baby i was once a seed, My water mumma help me grew with her feed.
I learned to grow as gash as my root, Making a way apart from those weeds of pollute.
In those little stem, I once awe to be the gem.
I was then a sappling of gentle, With the branches of benevolence i was a tenderly monumental.
I grew with water of peace, Buring the body of disheartened in grief.
The branches of hope keep extending, I grow grow with no brutal ending.
And then with the fruit of forgiving, I multiplied myself of adore instead misgiving.
With those flowers of serene, I was a the bay of gleam in those green.
I am a tree now, Passing those storm somehow.
Those winter’s, summer and rainy, I was standing still with my body draining.