Brittle By Name Poem by Annie Jane

Brittle by name,
But nature changed her.
Nurture turned her,
Conversely, to stone.

She; youngest, smallest,
She who should shatter,
Got hurt, dug deep,
No tears, not weak.

Still, they spoke as if she were glass.

Treat her like timber,
Like granite, like root,
Not snowflake or coral
Or faltering shoot.

Know her as safety,
Trust her as your home,
For she will be strongest
When she is your own.

It's true: she is glass,
But fragile she's not,
Because glass is of sand,
And sand is of rock.