On a quiet lawn where sunlight breathes,Two gentle wanderers bow to the earth,Neck and feather in soft accord,Writing silence across the green. They do not hurry.They do not speak.Yet something passes between them—A language older than wind. The grass bends kindly beneath their steps,Each blade a witness to their calm,While shadows linger at their sidesLike …
When Morning Finds Its WingsWhen Morning Finds Its Wings
Beneath the woven reach of winter’s lace, A tiny pulse of life adorns the morn; Soft sunlight slips across the open space, And paints the quiet hour newly born. You rest where brittle branches meet the blue, A spark suspended in the cooling air, As though the sky itself has summoned you To show how …