I am a mountain.

My foundation is firm,

and I shall not be moved.

But inside me it is cold and drafty,

and the warmth never penetrates through.


I am a tree.

My roots run deep, anchoring me to the earth.

Weary traveler’s find rest under my shady leaves.

But when storms come,

their winds beat against my stiff branches

and I am left ragged.


I am a prairie.

The warmth of the sun brings me vitality,

and when the storms come,

I bend and I shake when their winds beat against me,

but I do not break.

If their winds take me,

then I travel the earth until I land

and am planted once again.


Mountains are impressive,

and trees are lovely,

but I think I’d rather be a prairie.