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In the hush of early dawn,
the mist clings to the cobblestones like silk,
softly draping the lanterns that sigh
in amber halos over sleepy streets.

A sparrow flits from gutter to roof,
its wing a flicker of charcoal against
the pewter sky, while distant church bells
toll a quiet rhythm, steady as a heartbeat.

The baker’s oven exhales warm bread,
the scent weaving through narrow alleys,
mingling with the perfume of wet earth
after last night’s gentle rain.

Children’s laughter bubbles from the square,
their games a tapestry of chalk and chase,
while old men on benches share stories,
their voices low, like pages turning slow.

As light unfurls, painting the façades
in shades of rose and gold, the city awakes—
not with a roar, but a whisper,
a promise that today, like yesterday,
will hold its own quiet wonder.