Beneath the hush of morning,
the earth leaves its adorning—
dew strung on the spider's thread,
pearls where silent prayers are shed.
The sky pours its woven flame,
seeds of light without a name,
laying crowns on common fields,
armoring the heart that yields.
The sparrow, frail yet unbowed,
folds its hymn within a cloud,
placing songs on shattered stones,
weaving balm from broken bones.
The rivers shape sacred rings,
bearing hush of secret things,
etching on each mortal shore
graces not bartered nor worn.
The elder trees bow and break,
casting shade for sorrow's sake;
their bark carries unseen lore,
pledged in roots forevermore.
The stars spill their breath unseen,
sowing dreams where none have been,
folding into dreaming seas
gowns of ancient melodies.
The rain crowns the barren dust,
blessing ashes born of trust,
calling forth the seeds asleep,
turning loss to harvest deep.
The mountains open their breast,
giving stone for souls to rest,
hands that never grasp nor take,
but heal the hollowed and break.
The fire shares its aching light,
burning so the blind gain sight,
a warmth born from silent loss,
framing gold from iron's dross.
Thus the world, in breath and sigh,
scatters wonders we pass by,
all unsought, yet placed with care,
silent jewels in open air.