By grace of love, I never found my rest;
its road was crooked, winding through my chest.
No place to stay, no moment to be still,
no quiet night could calm my restless will.

Whoever found some shelter from the rain
became a tree that bore another’s pain;
it spread its branches, offered shade and light,
while standing in the storm throughout the night.

I was that tree beneath the falling sky,
with weary roots that never asked for why.
For every traveler, I became a shade,
a quiet refuge where their fears could fade.

When sunlight came, I gave my shadow away;
when rain descended, I remained to stay.
I took the thunder, wind, and endless cold,
so others could find warmth within my hold.

Yet no one ever stopped to ask of me,
“Where do you rest when storms refuse to flee?
When all the branches tremble in the night,
who holds your roots and tells your heart, ‘You’re alright’?”

I learned the strange and beautiful art of love:
to give away the little that you have;
to lose a piece of yourself so someone stays,
to light another’s dark and lose your flame.

For tired hearts, I became a gentle shore;
for silent tears, I opened every door.
I gave my arms to those who needed them,
while hiding all the cracks beneath my skin.

I walked through rain-filled roads and called your name;
through silent streets, I searched for you in vain.
Behind closed windows, underneath gray skies,
I looked for you in every passing light.

And every time I whispered, “This must end,”
my heart replied, “There’s still a little left.”
A little hope, a little light, a little flame—
enough to make me walk the road again.

How strange the ways of love can sometimes be:
it breaks the heart, yet teaches it to see.
It takes your peace, then leaves you something more—
a deeper soul than you had ever known before.

So many came beneath my branches tired,
rested a while, then left when they desired.
They never saw the trembling in my leaves;
they never knew the storms beneath the trees.

I was a shelter for the ones who cried,
a smile for those who had no joy inside.
For others, I was warmth, a hand, a home;
but when I needed someone, I was alone.

And sometimes all I wished for was so small:
someone to sit beside me through it all.
Not asking where my shade or shelter lay—
just saying, “You are tired. Rest here today.”

Someone who would quietly understand
the weight of giving everything you can;
someone who'd place a gentle hand on mine
and say, “You don't have to be strong tonight.”

But love, that strange old teacher of the soul,
taught me that giving is not about the toll.
A tree does not demand a price for shade;
it gives because that is the way it's made.

And still I stand beneath the endless rain,
with roots that carry every hidden pain.
My branches bend, my leaves have learned to fall,
but somehow I still rise above it all.

Perhaps one day, beyond these clouds of gray,
a spring will find its quiet, golden way.
Perhaps someone will come who sees the root,
not merely the beautiful and fragile fruit.

Someone who understands that every flower
has fought the darkness underneath the ground;
that every beautiful and living thing
has known the silence before it learned to sing.

Perhaps one day someone will look at me
and see the soul beneath what others see—
not merely shade for someone else's pain,
but one who needs a shelter from the rain.

And if that day should ever come to me,
I will not fear the storm or restless sea.
Let clouds arrive; let every sky turn gray.
I know the road of love is not an easy way.

It bends us through our pride and loneliness,
through broken dreams, uncertainty, and loss;
until we reach a place where we can stand
without demanding someone else’s hand.

No longer frightened by the ones who leave,
nor holding tightly to the ones who stay;
we learn that love is not possession’s chain—
it is a light that survives the deepest rain.

Yes, by the grace of love, I found no rest;
its crooked road has carved itself within my chest.
And though the path was twisted, dark, and long,
somewhere inside me still survives a song.

For deep within my heart, a tree remains—
still green beneath a thousand falling rains.
Its branches may be tired, its roots may ache,
but still it offers shelter in its wake.

And perhaps that is what love was meant to be:

To let the whole world rain upon your leaves,
yet still become a shelter for another;
to carry storms no stranger ever sees,
and somehow still have kindness left to give.

But if love should one day ask me what remains
after all these years of roads and storms and rain,

I would answer:

A tired heart,
a handful of old scars,
a thousand memories soaked in rain,
and a tree
that still refuses to fall.

Not standing only
so others may rest beneath its shade,

but standing
to prove that even after the fiercest storm,

roots can remain,

green can return,

a heart can still give,

and even beneath the darkest sky,

a soul can keep reaching

for the light.