Always Rising

No matter how low the sun dips or how dark the night, I wake each morning seeking back the light. I never stay bowed longer than I must, rising above the worry and the dust. Surrounded by faces, yet I climb alone, turning each trial into stepping‑stone. When rain has washed the heavy soil anew, I stretch my stem toward the clearer blue. Every new dawn is a fresh golden start — pulled from deep roots, lifted from the heart. I grow a little taller, brighter, stronger still, proof that my spirit never knows to chill. From ground to sky, through calm and through surprise — always rising, beneath the open skies.