The cedar's trunk, a column of quiet resolve,
Stands firm against tempests, its grain a sacred code.
Each ring, a year's testament to endurance and grace,
As seasons weave their tapestry upon its weathered face.
Within its heartwood, secrets are carved—
Of lovers' whispered vows, of warriors unscarved.
The cedar knows the language of wind and rain,
And in its rings, the pulse of life's eternal refrain.
©malerisah
M