Gentling

Beside the small river –
paths unnamed,
byways unsure,
where morning pauses
on the verge of becoming.

Sunlight on water;
lilies wake –
unspoken prayers.
Ducklings drift –
one pulse,
one breath,
carried
without a why.

Along the road’s thin edge,
bougainvillea burn,
shoe-flowers flare,
marigolds hold gold,
and countless nameless blooms
unfold –
unnoticed,
unremembered.

Tea stalls stir awake,
kettles murmuring
old stories into steam.
Children scatter into morning,
barefoot joy,
leaving time behind.

A hush takes root –
hope breathing softly
between moments.

Quiet grace –
a gentleness
survives a world
that has forgotten
how to slow,
how to soften.

***