Whispers of Gratitude She lays her cheek upon the ground, where flowers bloom, where life is found. Her breath becomes a gentle prayer, a hymn of thanks for earth so fair. The grass leans close to hear her song, The blossoms nod and sway along. In every leaf, in every hue, She feels the world embrace her, too. No gold, no crown could she demand, for all she needs is in her hand— the sky, the soil, the sun, the rain, the sacred bond that shall remain. And softly still, her spirit knows, gratitude is the seed that grows. For every whisper to the land, returns as love from Mother’s hand. 🎨 Velin Rael