In the quiet dawn of morning light,
He rises before the break of day,
With weary eyes that hold no fight,
He works to chase our fears away.
His hands are calloused, rough and worn,
Yet tender when they hold us tight,
Through every storm, every thorn,
He stands a beacon in the night.
Unseen, unheard, he toils and strives,
His dreams set aside for ours,
In every moment, he revives,
Our hopes like blooming flowers.
His sacrifice, a silent song,
A melody of love so pure,
To him, we forever belong,
In his strength, we are secure.