In the hush between the hours, when the world forgets its noise, I hear the whisper of the flowers, soft as secrets, sure as choice. They do not rush the morning light, nor beg the evening sky to stay— they simply open, petal-bright, and breathe the silence of the day. So may my heart, untroubled, grow, through storms, through shadows, through the rain, to find within what blossoms know: there’s beauty even inside pain. And when the night feels long and deep, with stars too far, with dreams unsure, I’ll plant my faith, and gently keep the hope that time will make it pure.