In corners where the silence grows,
A whisper hums the world it knows.
Not loud like storm or proud like sun,
But soft, where all the dreams begun.
A candle lit, alone, unseen,
Still guards the dark with light between.
Its flame may flicker, small and shy,
Yet reaches stars no hand can tie.
For strength is not in thunder’s call,
But in the rise after the fall.
And hope, though feathered, worn, or frayed,
Is brave in every step it’s made.
