Your garden is shaded. Flowers untouched by rain refuse to wither, growing in the heart of barren land, their buds still choosing to bloom. Your ship never sinks. The grip of its anchor is like the clutch of a blade, yet you draw your course through the sea without trembling, and the waters part to welcome you. Your shell never cracks. Like a turtle that never slips upon the slick rocks, your skin is as smooth as rain-darkened stone, enduring through time. You, the gentle one, unyieldingly strong.