Life drifts in silent rivers, winding slow
Through valleys carved by laughter, rain, and loss.
The morning’s hush, the evening’s gentle sigh-
Each breath a page, unwritten, yet endured.
We gather joy like petals in our hands,
Unfolding hope in seasons of despair,
And cradle sorrow, learning how it shapes
The fragile architecture of our days.
Love enters quietly, a subtle chord
That hums beneath the thunder of the world-
A glance, a touch, the memory of warmth
That lingers in the corridors of thought.
It is the thread that binds the scattered hours,
The silent promise woven through the dusk,
A beacon in the labyrinth of doubt,
A shelter built from kindness, trust, and time.
We stumble, rise, and reach for what remains-
The embers of the heart, still glowing red
Against the chill of all that must be lost.
Yet in this dance of endings and of dreams,
We find the shape of meaning, softly cast
In shadow, light, and all that lies between.
So let us walk this path with open hands,
And hold each other gently as we go.