Envoy

Envoy

In quiet halls of stone and brass,
An envoy walks with measured tread,
A messenger whose whispered grass
Carries the weight of words unsaid.

From Westminster’s austere lobby
To distant courts where monsoons sigh,
He bears the Crown’s soft‑spoken plea—
A promise stitched in Union‑Jack sky.

No trumpet blares, no drummed parade,
Just files of ink and folded creed,
A courteous nod, a measured aid,
In diplomacy’s subdued creed.

He speaks in tones that softly gleam,
Like tea that steams in porcelain cups,
When treaties form from quiet dream
And continents in concord clasp.

So let the world recall his name—
Not as a soldier, but a friend—
An envoy’s grace, a quiet flame
That lights the path where peace may bend.