Hover

Hover

In the quiet hush of twilight’s sigh,
A kestrel lingers, wings outspread,
A silver thread of breath held high,
Where earth and sky are softly led.

Below, the meadow hums with life,
Grass blades trembling in the draught,
While shadows stretch like quiet knives,
And time seems caught in gentle craft.

We too can hover, heart aloft,
Suspended ’twixt the now and then,
A pause where doubts are softly loft,
And hope resumes its quiet den.

So let us learn the art to stay,
Not rushed, nor fallen, merely poised,
To feel the wind’s soft, steady sway—
In hovering, we find our joys.