When Roots Remember the Rain

Beneath the soil, where silence sleeps,

The roots hold stories the earth still keeps.

Whispers of storms from seasons gone,

Of skies once weeping at the break of dawn.

Each vein a thread to what once was,

A tapestry woven in nature’s pause.

They twist and turn in the dark unseen,

Anchored deep where the past has been.

When the rain returns, soft and slow,

The roots awaken, begin to grow.

A tender drink from ancestral streams,

Reviving echoes of distant dreams.

The leaves above may chase the sun,

But roots remember where life begun.

In the cradle of earth, the pulse remains,

A quiet rhythm, the blood of plains.

Heritage whispers in the water's fall,

A voice that answers a timeless call.

To belong is to know the soil’s embrace,

The strength of a journey, the depth of a place.

So let the rain kiss the roots below,

Let their memories spark and flow.

For even in drought, the roots remain,

Waiting to bloom when they feel the rain.