The Soft

The rain faithfully carries the hills down to the sea. Piece by reluctant piece the hills let go, sacrificing their own skin; waving good bye in a stoic way as they see streams industriously ferry minerals into the belly of the ocean.
The soft always overcomes the hard.
The hardest wood will fall and lying there, raked over by the tender fingers of the earth, bleeding slowly and letting go; that which it borrowed from the rich ground, so long ago, now chewed on by insects and hollowed, empty--
The soft will always overcome the hard.
Arrogance and pride will melt--like glaciers sanded by a warm wind. Fear exposed under all that cold. The trembling soothed and the soft salve applied.
The soft will always overcome the hard.
Magnificent metal into rust-dust made. The works of man forgotten; buried in piles of grime and silt. The tallest towers tilt and turn their lofty thoughts down; down into the hungry gut of the earth.
And still the wind brings the gentle rain. The soft will always overcome the hard.