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.