Writers 
During the winter months, when the sun doesn't shine,
And doubts start to seep through barricades,
When all the steps seem like steps of stones,
But you have to take the walk by yourself,
Remember roots grow deep below
When danger of the tallest branches showing is minimal.
Unwittingly the seed in the ground, waiting in winter.
Doesn't cry, doesn't say anything.
It knows the Storm will come to pass,
The buried clay will be awakened that spring.
So be your school the silence,
Your most important tool is the waiting.
All the stars were born in fire,
Through patient years they climbed up higher.
Once the oak was an acorn small,
The waterfall started as it goes down.
From one speck of a dream daring to drop,
Then cut through rock and water.
So hold thy light, although it seems so feeble.
And protect thy holy and holy sleep.
The clock doesn't go cluck cluck,
When your season comes your sun is hot.
Although hope is weak, although hope is small,
Your time will come, it listens to your call.
Never give in, never give up;
The most good in you has not yet been expressed.
In the dark the stars light up,
In the waiting, you will discover your light.
At the time, your time will be here so stand and believe.
The harvest waits for those who grieve,
Despite all this, rise again, though,
A time will come when your time is up. Your rightful place.