The Lesson of Soft Things
They stand in the hush
where childhood and womanhood shake hands,
learning that the smallest gifts—
a petal, a wingbeat, a breath—
can carry more truth
than a thousand shouting winters.
No elder speaks.
Yet the teaching is clear:
Gentleness is not weakness.
It is a seed with the memory of forests
already written inside it.
The world will ask them to be stoned,
but the old spirits smile,
for they know—
those who master tenderness
can bend mountains
without ever raising a fist.
The Lesson of Soft Things
They stand in the hush
where childhood and womanhood shake hands,
learning that the smallest gifts—
a petal, a wingbeat, a breath—
can carry more truth
than a thousand shouting winters.
No elder speaks.
Yet the teaching is clear:
Gentleness is not weakness.
It is a seed with the memory of forests
already written inside it.
The world will ask them to be stoned,
but the old spirits smile,
for they know—
those who master tenderness
can bend mountains
without ever raising a fist.
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