Kithei

Kithei, a name that speaks of fire, eyes that hold a knowing glint,

Scoffs at whispers, at empty praise, for talk is but the wind's faint hint.

"People say a lot," her voice rings true, a melody both bold and stark,

"But words are leaves, and deeds are roots, a barren promise leaves its mark."

She's seen grand plans on tongues unfurl, then fade like smoke beneath the sun,

Empty promises, a fleeting dream, battles fought and never won.

For Kithei knows, the world's a stage, where actions paint a truer scene,

Kindness given, burdens shared, the whispers turn to what they've never been.

So let them chatter, let them spout, their words like pebbles on the shore,

Kithei will carve her own sure path, where actions speak and speak some more.

For talk is cheap, a passing breeze, a promise whispered on the air,

But deeds, they build, they mend, they hold, a testament, a weight to bear.