They come and go, a fleeting tide,
While I remain, the earth, the guide.
The autumn leaves, the winter snow,
Witness the ones I used to know.
I thought their presence made me bloom,
A garden bathed in sunlit rooms.
But roots grow deep when they depart,
In hollow spaces finds the heart.
For peace is not in crowded halls,
Nor echoed words against the walls.
It lives in silence, stark and true,
The quiet self I never knew.
So walk the barren, stony way,
Though not a single flower lay.
Just turn your head, you’ll see at last,
A trail of blooms from all you’ve passed.