Verse

Verse

In the quiet edge of morning, light retrieves its name,

a sparrow writes the hour in dust along the pane.

Footsteps on cobblestones remember what was said,

while windows glow with stories of the day ahead.

Whispers braid the streets with patient, careful thread,

each line a door that opens where a dream is led.

Verse breathes beside us, steady, clear, and true,

a measured pulse that hints at what we’ll come to.

Verse Music

In the hush between the notes, a river finds its route,

where keys and strings recall the sunlight of a tune.

Rhythms ripple like wind across a quiet room,

each measure drawing breath from stories we assume.

A violin sighs, a piano answers with a grain of dusk,

and all the air becomes a doorway to what we trust.

Chords assemble as travelers, returning to the start,

music mapping the corners of the heart.