To give, to bend, to bear the weight,

To walk through fire and call it fate.

To set aside one’s dreams and days,

And light another’s path with blaze.

A mother’s hands, worn soft and thin,

A soldier’s oath, a battle’s din.

The friend who stays when all have gone,

The love that lingers, holding on.

Not all who sacrifice will speak,

Their strength is quiet, vast, and deep.

But in the echoes of their strife,

They shape the world, they gift us life.