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A breeze carries a distant tune,
Morning air so crisp, so sweet.
The wildflowers bloom in careless June,
Life feels whole where hearts meet.
Fingers trace the lines of time,
A quiet joy, so divine.
In the small, we find the treasure,
Pieces of days we hold forever.
Not in gold, not in flight,
But in the warmth of the night.
Laughter echoes through wooden doors,
Simple moments, they anchor the soul.
The rhythm of rain on forest floors,
Every piece making us whole.
An old melody hums through the air,
Reminding us of who we are.
Love lives in the things we share,
Not in the reach for a star.
Fingers trace the lines of time,
A quiet joy, so divine.
In the small, we find the treasure,
Pieces of days we hold forever.
Not in gold, not in flight,
But in the warmth of the night.
