Like a book written
in a forgotten tongue—
misunderstanding denies.
I count many tales
on my hand.
And I lay every night
on a pillow
of flame and tears.
Yet I believe in the light
within every heart,
a spark so small
it may seem invisible,
yet strong enough
to illuminate the darkest night.
I believe in dreams
whispered into the stars,
carried by the winds of hope,
and returned to us
as the gentle reminder
that all things are possible.
And I dream of mornings
yet to come,
of the sunlight
that warms our faces,
and of the gentle truth
that even the longest winters
give way to spring.
I gift you
my spring.