Stand

Stand

In the quiet hush of dawn, a lone oak stands,
its gnarled limbs outstretched like old friends greeting the light,
leaves whispering secrets to the wind that drifts over the meadow.

A market stand bright with bunches of ruby‑red tomatoes,
golden loaves still warm from the baker’s oven,
the scent of fresh thyme mingling with rain‑kissed cobblestones—
here commerce stands as a humble promise of community.

We, too, learn to stand—not merely on two feet,
but in conviction, when the world tilts and shadows lengthen,
our spines straight like the lampposts that guard the fog‑filled lane,
each heartbeat a quiet drum, refusing to falter.

And when the night draws its velvet curtain,
we find a stand of candles flickering in the window,
their soft glow a testament that even in darkness
we can stand together, steadfast, unyielding, unafraid.