In the quiet hour before the dawn,
When silver mist still clings to lawn,
The world inhales a breath so deep,
As rivers stir and forests sleep.
A single bird begins its song,
Soft notes that pull the light along,
And slowly skies of fading gray
Unfold into the arms of day.
The mountains wear a golden flame,
Yet never speak of their own name,
While oceans keep their ancient rhyme
That echoes through the halls of time.
And we, like sparks beneath the stars,
Carry both our dreams and scars,
Still searching roads we’ve never known,
Still learning how our hearts have grown.
So when the night feels cold and long,
Remember dawn is born from wrong,
For every shadow, every tear,
Makes brighter mornings reappear.
In the quiet hour before the dawn, When silver mist still clings to lawn, The world inhales a breath so deep, As rivers stir and forests sleep. A single bird begins its song, Soft notes that pull the