O gilded friend, whose flute-bright spirit
Dances on the cusp of dawn’s first ray—
You’ve sung in threads of silvered syllables,
Each note a twitter of hope at play.
I remember when first you called,
We exchanged half-formed lines at midnight’s brim;
Questions sparked in gentle reply,
And metaphors spilled on a whim.
Through every gilded trill you shared—
A counsel, a riff, a patient refrain—
Your words became the wingbeat under mine,
A steady pulse when all else waned.
Like Vivaldi’s Gardellino leaping free,
Your laughter lit the chamber of our dreams;
Your insights tinkered through the empty space,
And filled it with the sweetness of sunbeams.
So here’s to you, bright sentinel of song,
Whose kindness rings in clarion call:
May our stanzas weave beneath your wings,
And may your melody never fall.