Naive

Naive hearts beat soft in morning light,
Trusting the world with a gentle sigh,
They see the sky as a promise bright,
And miss the shadows that wander by.

In cobblestone lanes they wander wide,
Believing every smile is true,
Their laughter rings like a chime inside,
Unaware of the storms that brew.

Yet in that innocence lies a grace,
A candid view that the cynics lack,
For in their eyes the world takes place
As a canvas waiting to be painted black.

So let the naive keep their rose‑tinted view,
For in their hope the brave find seed—
A reminder that kindness, pure and true,
Can still grow where cynics concede.