This poem is about someone who has endured hardships quietly, like a strong field weathering many storms. Despite past struggles, they give kindness and care freely, nurturing others without taking too much. The speaker admires this resilience and wishes to protect them from future pain or “frost.” It’s a gentle vow to preserve the warmth, beauty, and stability they bring, while acknowledging that change and loss can still come, like petals falling at the first sign of winter.
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shoulders bearing more sky than any one season should hold.
The ground keeps its silence
about how many storms it has swallowed.
I have seen the rain split you open.
Not a flood, but a quiet surrender,
as if the earth finally released
of the weight it had long pretended not to feel.
The field gives without asking.
Evening layered sweet as late-spring petals,
sun-brewed warmth steady enough to plant the dawn,
golden heap shared in the hush of supper.
These are your gentle harvests.
The tulip blooms
because you never step too hard,
never shade the light.
Never take more than you can carry.
If I could,
I would guard your soil from frost.
Never again would you know the winter
that once hollowed you.
May the sun linger past its setting,
and the field keep its quiet vows.
May the tulips never bow
to winds that whisper change.
For I have stood in gardens
where the petals swore permanence,
yet scattered at first frost.
If these rows lie fallow,
winter will speak our name.
and the field keep its quiet vows.
May the tulips never bow
to winds that whisper change.
For I have stood in gardens
where the petals swore permanence,
yet scattered at first frost.
If these rows lie fallow,
winter will speak our name.