The smallest moments shimmer in the shade—
A sunbeam traces secrets on the windowsill.
Laughter, liquid as morning light, cascades
Before darkness, before the world grows still.

We chase horizons, charting unknown stars,
Blind to the butterfly’s furtive flight—
A whispered word, a fingerprint on dusty jars,
Pulling the threads from the cloak of night.

A cup of coffee, warming winter-chilled hands,
The scent of rain drifting on a grassy plain,
A child’s bright drawing of imagined lands,
Small wonders lost, yet in our hearts remain.

We measure worth in milestones, gilded names,
Yet miss the quiet treasures close at hand—
Unspoken gifts, too humble to be named,
Weave the very life we strive to understand.

One day we’ll turn and, with astonished eyes,
Find dew-strung webs glistening on stalks of grain;
The little things, dismissed in hurried guise,
Were galaxies shining through the rain.

So pause—let silent marvels spark your quest;
Life’s magic hides in spaces in between.
The smallest joys, like fireflies at rest,
Illuminate worlds the heart has never seen.