Poetry

Shift

Shift In the quiet hush of dawn, the world begins to turn, A gentle shift of light that paints the sky in amber gold. Leaves, once still, now whisper as a breeze decides

Woman

She walks like dawn across the cobbled lane, Her laughter soft as rain upon the pane, Eyes hold the quiet strength of ancient oak, A steady pulse that none can ever broke.

Trust

In quiet rooms where whispers blend, A hand held firm, a promise mend. Trust is the thread that weaves the night, A soft lantern in fading light. It blooms like roses in the rain, Rooted

Meant

What was meant to be, the quiet thread, Weaving through days like soft, unseen wool, Stitching our hopes into the cloth of fate, Where every choice finds its rightful pull. In corridors

Glaze

On the warm bun, a mirror gleam, Sugar spun on morning air. A quiet crack, a gentle gleam— The promise of the baker's care. Not born of fire, nor kiln's deep glow, But

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