The Rooted One

The earth remembers every step.

It holds you, knows you, keeps what’s kept.

A soul of stone, a heart that waits,

You build your world behind calm gates.

A morning brew, a sunlit bed,

A book unread, a rose turned red.

You want no chaos, just the real

The smell of bread, the weight, the feel.

You love in touch, not rushed demands,

In softened gaze, in calloused hands.

They push, you pause. They rush; you rest.

You know slow-growing roots grow best.

But don’t mistake your still for weak

You guard your peace, your voice, your streak.

And when you charge? You do not miss.

Your anger strikes without a hiss.

You’re mountain-shaped, you don’t retreat

You are the pulse beneath the wheat.