At Dawn’s Whisper Over Slumbered Vale
The hollowed hush of village lies asleep;
Beneath the cloak of dawn’s first amber tear,
Where shadows fold and memory doth keep,
A soul awakes, whose heart in yearning deep,
Embraced the fragile flame of hope’s soft gleam,
A villageois whose vigil none doth break,
Within the ceaseless turning of a dream.
He walks amidst the cobblestone’s cool grace,
As petals kissed by morning’s gentle breath
Bow low beneath the sun’s emerging face,
While whispered tales of night escape from death.
The air, a tapestry of fading rest,
Weaves silent hymns for weary earth to rise;
Each step a hymn, a pulse within his breast,
As hope alights beneath the meekening skies.
“Oh weary world,” he murmurs soft and slow,
“Why dost thou wear such cloak of endless shade?
Though dawn doth break, thy sorrows still do grow,
And in thy depths, cold echoes seem to fade.”
His voice, a leaf upon the quiet stream,
Doth ripple through the soul of slumbered stone,
And in that moment, touched by tender gleam,
The village stirs to life unknown, alone.
No visage greets him, nor a bell’s faint toll;
Yet in his heart, a fire anew is cast—
That fragile spark that whispers to the soul,
That though the night is long, the dawn comes fast.
The humble homes, where laughter once did dwell,
Stand mute as statues veiled in morning’s mist;
Yet from their hearths, an unseen tale they tell—
Of dreams deferred, and moments once dismissed.
The villageois, in stride both calm and deep,
Feels in the sighs of breeze his own desire:
To weave in silence what the shadows keep,
To raise, from earth, forgotten hope’s bright fire.
Beneath the sky’s expansive, yawning grace,
He seeks the heart that pulses ‘neath decay;
Each leaf a promise, each breeze a soft embrace,
That bids the sleeping world awake today.
He pauses where the ancient elm doth stand,
Its branches sprawled like arms in yearning sky.
“Awake,” he breathes, “O heart of this old land,
Let not thy silent sorrow be thine lie.”
The whispering leaves begin to twist and turn,
Like dancers caught in morning’s tender light;
And in their dance, a fervent hope doth burn—
That day shall conquer all the shrouding night.
As shadows stretch and cower ‘fore the sun,
A child’s laughter, soft as dew on rose,
Breaks through the silence, newly spun,
A radiant chord where weary spirit goes.
He turns to see small feet upon the green,
Eyes wide with wonder, lips curved in delight.
“A waking world,” he breathes — a vision seen,
A herald born of dawn’s own gentle light.
The villageois, with embers in his eyes,
Feels life anew within his trembling frame;
No longer bound by sorrow’s somber skies,
He treads the path where hope and day proclaim.
“Awake,” he whispers once more to all around,
“Let hearts unshackle, break the ancient spell.
Though dark and night have held this hallowed ground,
Through will and faith, the dawn can yet compel.”
From windows creak the sound of slow arise,
Faint stirring feet, reluctant yet sincere.
The village lifts its heavy lids; the skies
Unfold their light, dismissing shadows near.
In this communion ‘twixt man and restless earth,
The villageois becomes the hopeful breath;
To touch the heart of sorrow’s poignant birth,
And claim anew the morning after death.
No gods invoke, nor fate’s cold iron chain,
But simply will—resolute and bright—
Which brings the dawn, redeems both grief and pain,
And kindles life from out the clutch of night.
So in the vale where silence long had reigned,
A chorus swells, unfinished yet and free;
The song of those whose dreams were once constrained—
Now blossoming in hopeful harmony.
And in the heart of this reborn domain,
The villageois stands firm, a beacon true:
A mirror of humanity’s refrain,
That dawn shall come, and hope shall all renew.
Thus, ‘ere the sun ascends its golden throne,
With whispered vows beneath the budding trees,
The village breathes, once more awakened, grown—
Alive with promise borne upon the breeze.
And in that moment, like the first sweet rain,
That falls to quench the earth’s unspoken plea,
Is found the gentle truth that shall remain:
The human heart, in hope, flies ever free.
