Waver

Waver

In the hush of morning light, a flag does waver,
Its cloth a trembling sigh against the cool, pale sky,
Each thread a quiet pulse, a soft, indecisive shiver—
A dance of doubt and hope where wind and will comply.

The river’s edge, where reeds stand thin and slender,
Kisses the water’s face, then pulls back, then returns—
A waver of silver, a flicker, a tender
Pause between the current’s pull and the bank’s firm turns.

A heart may waver too, like candle‑flame in draft,
Flickering between the brave and the faint‑of‑breath,
Yet in that very sway there lies a gentle craft—
To find the steady centre amidst the flux of death.

So let us cherish the waver, not deem it flaw,
For in its subtle shift we learn to bend, not break—
A humble reminder that all we truly saw
Is held in motion’s grace, for peace to partake.