**Poetry**
Amidst a barren land, where sorrows dwell,
Where hearts are heavy, and spirits fell,
There rises a voice, a gentle plea,
A whisper of hope, a remedy.
Poetry, with its head held high,
Amidst the chaos, it will not die.
A barren plant, yet strong and bold,
Its words like seeds, in barren soil untold.
Through crevices of pain, it finds its way,
A beacon of light, dispelling the gray.
With every verse, a balm it brings,
Soothing wounds, mending broken wings.
In barren hearts, it plants a seed,
Of beauty, hope, and all we need.
A wildflower, blooming in the waste,
Poetry’s presence, a saving grace.
So let its words, like gentle rain,
Wash over us, easing every pain.
For in the realm of poetry, we find,
A refuge from the storms that rage outside.
