🖊️
Christina’s World
She did not ask the earth for ease,
Nor curse the hill, nor blame the breeze.
With patient arms she crossed the field,
Refusing still, refusing yield.
The farmhouse waited, small and far,
A weathered hope beneath a star.
The grass became a restless sea,
Its waves as vast as memory.
No face is turned for us to see,
Only the shape of dignity.
A quiet back, a lifted head—
More eloquent than words once said.
The distance whispers, “Not today.”
The heart replies, “I’ll find a way.”
Each blade of grass, each summer sky,
Asks not the question, “Why?”
Instead it speaks of human grace,
Of courage found in every place.
Not triumph loud, nor banners furled—
Just one soul meeting all the world.
And though the house remains afar,
Beyond the fence, beyond the scar,
The journey makes the meaning whole—
For hope is sometimes not a goal,
But simply choosing, day by day,
To face the hill
And make your way.