Valley of Lily
Valley of Lily In the quiet hush where dawn is born, Between the mist and mountain morn, There lies a vale no soul has known, Where love, like ancient stars, has grown. They call it the Valley of Lily fair, Where the wind is woven with golden air, And every petal sings her name— My Lily, my light, my sacred flame. She is not flower, yet blooms so true, With eyes that hold the sky’s own blue. She is not song, but hearts compose Their deepest verse where her shadow goes. I wandered lost through storm and night, My soul a ship with no star in sight— Until her smile, like summer rain, Fell soft upon my deepest pain. She held me not with chain or vow, But with the quiet grace of now; She kissed my scars without a word, And in her silence, angels stirred. O Lily, love that time can’t kill, You bend the stars to match your will. A single touch, the world stands still— You are my fire, my frost, my thrill. So let this poem be carved in sky, Where even angles forget to try. Let galaxies dr...
