In the stillness of the dawn’s first light,
Silent wings carve paths through the sky,
Carrying whispers of the divine,
Beckoning souls to soar high.
Ethereal feathers, a celestial grace,
Each movement a sacred dance,
Guiding lost spirits to their place,
In realms where dreams enhance.
Through forests dense and valleys wide,
Their songs a hymn of ancient lore,
Unseen, they glide with spirits tied,
To mysteries that hearts implore.
In twilightâs embrace, they find repose,
Nestled in branches of the eternal tree,
Guardians of the night’s soft close,
Symbols of what it means to be free.