Beneath the sky where whispers dwell,
English words like gentle rain,
Fall upon the earth so well,
Crafting tales in sweet refrain.
In the dance of morning light,
Letters form in silent streams,
Painting stories bold and bright,
Weaving through our waking dreams.
Echoes of a thousand voices,
In the rustling of the leaves,
Each syllable a choice,
A melody that never grieves.
Through the corridors of time,
English weaves its endless thread,
Binding hearts in every clime,
With words that linger, softly said.