The breeziest touch
Does shock the mimosa
And sends her drooping
Into her own world.
Yet, just a while later
She comes to life again.
Not wilted;
Not killed for sure.
The moon
Waxes and wanes;
Death is a silent promise
of the coming birth.
Nature springs back
When beaten;
What is broken
Gets whole again.
Thus is nature
Meant to be;
Nothing ends defeated,
Nothing utterly perished.
Life bounces back,
From the deepest chasm.
This is hope.
The reason for living.
