Gratitude’s whisper

Beneath the old oak’s sprawling shade,

An elder sister, a bond she made,

With words of warmth, her brother near,

She spoke of thanks, both calm and clear.

“Little brother, come and see,

The world is full of mystery,

But in its wonders, we must find,

A grateful heart, a peaceful mind.”

He looked up with curious eyes,

“Why, dear sister?” came his sighs,

“Why should we thank for what we get,

When sometimes, things make us upset?”

She smiled and ruffled his hair light,

“The darkest days can hold the bright,

A roof above, our daily bread,

For these small things, we bow our head.”

“Remember when you wished for rain?

And then it poured on window pane?

The flowers bloomed, the air was sweet,

In every drop, a gift replete.”

He nodded slowly, thoughts profound,

The world seemed different, all around,

“Even the toys I do not own,

Are less important than I’ve known.”

She hugged him close, her heart aglow,

“Yes, my brother, let it grow,

This seed of thanks, this grateful plea,

Will bloom and set your spirit free.”

“Gratitude’s a gentle art,

It starts with love, it fills the heart,

So cherish all you have, dear one,

And see the magic that’s begun.”

Beneath the oak, they sat and learned,

With every word, their hearts discerned,

The beauty in both large and small,

The grace of gratitude, above all.