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 drift close and see

The truth of you, the soul of me.

In the Valley of Lily, love remains—

Beyond all life, beyond all chains.

Forever yours, I breathe, I be—

For you are the world’s best poem to me.