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Heart of Stone

He built his dreams with fire and steel,   Through sweat and pain, through grit and will.   His path was carved with silent nights,   A war he waged beyond the sights.   But love, so sweet, so soft, so near,   Whispered dreams into his ear.   A choice was placed upon his chest—   His passion’s flame, or love’s request.   He turned away from burning light,   Held her close, embraced the night.   Yet soon he found, to his dismay,   Both love and purpose slipped away.   For goals demand a heart of stone,   And love still longs to call its own.   To chase one means to lose the fight,   To hold both tight is rarest might.   So walk the road with eyes aware,   Choose with wisdom, choose with care.   For once you drop what makes you whole,   You lose the fire—and lose your soul.
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Chawana

In a world of colors, whispers, and wind,
Chawana, a father, his wisdom did rescind.
"Son," he said, "hear my earnest plea,
Don't count your garden by leaves fallen free.

For each leaf, a story quietly untold,
Beneath its descent, a tale of bold.
Life's seasons shift, a dance in the breeze,
Don't judge your garden by leaves, if you please.

A garden's worth not measured by loss,
But by the roots that weather and across
Stand tall and firm, through storms and reprieve,
Don't judge your garden by leaves, believe.

For in the depths, where roots entwine,
Strength grows quietly, patient, divine.
So tend your garden with love and reprieve,
Don't judge your garden by leaves, but perceive."

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