
Be not the oak that faces stormy gusts, Which breaks beneath the fury of the wind. Instead, be willow, bending as it must, A haven for the wearied kin, you’ll find.
Be not a rock that dams the rivers’ flow, That brings about the havoc of the flood. Yet be a pebble, letting waters go, Creating paths where once tall barriers stood.
Be not a star that flares with blinding light, A spectacle to all who dare to gaze. Instead, a moon that guides through darkest night, A soothing, gentle source of graceful rays.
Do not be oak, or rock, or star that sears, But willow, pebble, moon that endears.

