When the wind carries secrets She whispers them into the morning breeze In the quiet of the morning dew They cling to blades of grass Trembling under the weight of being found The clouds seem to slow for a minute, As if they’re listening As if they’re afraid to. Nothing answers the wind Not the sky Not the birds belting their morning ballads Some truths are not meant to echo But stay woven in the web of sounds So they remain where they are, Falling short of receiving ears Caught between night and day Waiting for someone To whisper their name
