21. Ash Beneath the Hazel Tree (Indie Folk)

In a garden full of quiet flowers, her fading hand still held to mine. She whispered, *“Keep your heart unbroken, and let your gentle soul still shine.”* A mound of earth, a stone of sorrow, I knelt beside her memory. I planted there a young green hazel, its roots grew deep inside of me. A colder shadow filled the doorway, two daughters sharp as winter air. They stripped my days of warmth and mercy, and left me with their spite to bear. The ashes clung to all my clothing, my bed a corner by the flue. But though their voices tried to bind me, my spirit only deeper grew. And when the doves begin their singing, I feel the hazel watching me. A gentle whisper from the branches that holds my mother’s memory. **Ash beneath the hazel tree, hope within the quiet ground. Even when the world denies me, still my heart makes its own sound. Ash beneath the hazel tree, roots that keep my courage strong. I am the light within the shadows, I am the ending to their wrong.** They poured the lentils in the embers, a night of labor meant to break. But little wings came down around me, to help me for my mother’s sake. They swept the ashes with their feathers, they sang a vow I understood: *“We keep your heart from turning bitter, we stand beside the pure and good.”* The path to court was lit by moonlight, my borrowed dress a gentle flame. The prince looked through the crowded ballroom as if he somehow knew my name. We turned beneath the glowing lanterns, his hand a warmth I’d never known. But fear of chains that waited for me sent me back into the gloom. The doves above the branches murmured, the hazel bent its leaves to me: *“What’s true will never hide forever — your steps will lead you where you’re free.”* **Ash beneath the hazel tree, hope within the quiet ground. Even when the world denies me, still my heart makes its own sound. Ash beneath the hazel tree, roots that keep my courage strong. I am the light within the shadows, I am the ending to their wrong.** They brought the sisters to the doorway, they carved their lies into their skin. But blood cannot be bound by fabric, and truth will always rise again. I waited silent in the corner, a ghost within my father’s walls — until the doves cried out the answer, and tore the silence from the halls. The hazel bowed above my footsteps, the doves stood shining at my side. The slipper fit as if it knew me — no need for secrets left to hide. For what is pure cannot be stolen, and what is real will find its place. I stepped beyond the life behind me, and felt the sun upon my face. **Ash beneath the hazel tree, hope reborn in gentle light. All the sorrow, all the shadows cannot dim my spirit’s sight. Ash beneath the hazel tree, now I rise, and now I see — I am the truth that waited patient, I am my own destiny.**