Beneath the soil where secrets sleep,
in shadows dark and silence deep,
a seed once cast without a sound
began to stir beneath the ground.

No witness marked the moment small,
when life first stirred beneath it all,
but roots reached down with quiet grace,
to find their hold,to claim their place.

They pushed through stone,through years of rain,
through frozen sleep and summer's strain,
no praise was sung, no light bestowed-
yet still they grew beneath the load.

And up above,one day it came:
a tender shoot,a tiny flame.
It broke the earth,it breathed the sky,
it stretched its arms and learned to try.

Through storms that bent and winds that tore,
it held its ground,it reached for more.
Its bark grew thick,its limbs spread wide,
its leaves would tremble nut not hide.

Now strong and tall,the tree will stand,
with roots sunk deep in ancient land.
Each ring a year,each scar a sign-
of strength that grows in silent time.

So may we rise,though few may see,
the roots we plant so patiently.
For all we build above the plain,
begins below-in quiet strain.