Whispers in the Midnight Bloom

In the hush of a moonlit sigh, so deep,

Where stars above and waters sleep,

A single rose begins to weep—

Its petals hold a dream to keep.

A butterfly, in silent grace,

Rests gently on its blushing face,

As if to hear the flower's prayer

That drifts like mist through midnight air.

The lake reflects a velvet light,

A mirror to the soul of night.

Each ripple hums a lullaby

To every sorrow passing by.

The rose, dew-dressed and twilight-spun,

Still reaches out to touch the sun,

Yet finds its peace in silver gloom,

Embraced by starlight’s soft perfume.

The butterfly, a fleeting muse,

Knows hearts that love are bound to bruise.

Yet there it stays, through storm or calm,

Its wings a breath, its presence—balm.

No words are said, no voices cry,

Just petals, wings, and starlit sky—

A moment carved in time’s slow stream,

Where beauty sleeps within a dream.