Faint

A hush of mist, a soft‑lit sigh,
Faint footfalls on the dewy glade,
Where amber light and shadows play,
A whisper brushing leaf and blade.

It is the colour of a doubt,
A trembling note in quiet song,
The lingering echo of a shout
That fades before the night grows long.

In faintest thought, in muted hue,
The world leans close, yet stays unseen—
A breath of hope, a hue of blue,
A memory that leans between.

So let us chase the faint, the thin,
The almost‑there, the barely there,
For in its fragile, fleeting skin
Lies all the wonder we can share.