In the quiet chamber of my soul’s deep bloom, I gather the whispers of dawn and gloom, Plucking the stars from the velvet night, And weaving them into verses bright.
Like the jasmine’s fragrance on the evening air, Poetry blooms with tender care, A song of shadows, a dance of light, A fluttering dream in the hush of night.
With words, I paint the blush of dawn, A lullaby for the tired and gone, A melody woven from hope’s soft thread, A crown of flowers for hearts unsaid.
Oh, to craft from the soul’s own fire, A poem that lifts, a gentle desire— To sing the silent, to touch the sky, In every rhyme, a wish to fly.
