In quiet times, the soul takes flight,
Where hope resides, a beacon bright,
It perches on the soulâs own branch,
Singing softly, taking a chance.
Its melody, a soothing balm,
In tempest winds, it remains calm,
No words are needed, just its tune,
Guiding hearts beneath the moon.
Through darkest nights and stormy gales,
This hope endures, never fails,
A whispering, untiring friend,
On which the weary can depend.
So let us cherish this small bird,
Whose silent song is gently heard,
For in its wings, we find our way,
Towards a brighter, hopeful day.