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Where the Quiet Things Bloom

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There is beauty in the morning,
when the sky begins to glow,
in the gentle hush of sunlight
and the places shadows go.

There is magic in a flower
that still blooms after rain,
in the way the heart keeps beating
after seasons filled with pain.

The moon does not fear the darkness,
it simply learns to shine,
and perhaps we are like starlight—
small, but endlessly divine.

So let the world keep turning,
let the wild winds come and pass,
for even fragile little flowers
can grow through broken glass.

And somewhere, softly waiting,
where the quiet things all bloom,
there will always be a little light
to lead you through the gloom