Poem: Cirle of Life

A seed once slept beneath the ground,
In silent dark, without a sound.
Then rain did fall, and sun did rise—
It reached with hope toward open skies.

A sprout became a mighty tree,
Its roots ran deep, its crown ran free.
It offered shade, it bore sweet fruit,
It sang in winds, steadfast and mute.

A child once ran beneath its arms,
Drawn by wonder, not by charms.
She laughed and danced, fell down and grew,
As seasons changed and time flew through.

The child aged slow, then all at once—
She learned of loss, of pain, of wants.
She gave, she loved, she made, she grieved,
She questioned what she once believed.

Her hands grew worn, her pace grew slow,
Like autumn leaves begin to go.
Yet in her eyes, a spark remained,
A quiet fire that still contained

The story told from birth to death,
From baby’s cry to final breath.
Not a line, but something round—
A circle, seamless and profound.

And when she passed, the soil received
What once had bloomed, what once had breathed.
And from that place, a seedling stirred—
A life begun, without a word.

So round it goes, both cruel and kind,
A truth we seek, yet rarely find.
The end’s not end, nor start the start—
The circle of life holds every part.