Morning light descends like a translucent blessing,
as I sit in stillness among wild grasses, held by the wind’s quiet breath.
Time slips gently through my fingers—
like fragile, unspoken dreams that glow softly in silence.
I am not a butterfly in brilliant display,
but a trace of nearly unseen light,
learning to open my wings in stillness,
undergoing transformation in solitude.
I ask only this:
that one soul might see the wings I once opened in quiet resolve.
If even just one,
that would be enough to light my entire sky of still and secret dawn.