Personal poem

Tomorrow wakes on roofs of blue, where quiet panels drink the sun, and every golden ray becomes a light for everyone. Across the hills, the windmills turn like dancers dressed in white; they gather songs from open skies and carry them through night. The rivers hum through patient stones, the tides breathe in and out, while gardens climb old city walls where smoke once wandered out. Children race beneath clean clouds, their bright kites flying high; no shadow stains the summer fields, no ash obscures the sky. And hand in hand, we learn at last what earth has always known: the power that can heal the world is freely, gently grown. So let the future shine with hope, beneath the wind and sun— a greener home for every heart, and a dawn that belongs to everyone.