Mirror to My Soul by Heather Mirassou

In dawn’s soft cradle,

dew-kissed leaves arise,

silver where sun and silence meet.

The forest breathes

amber lullabies,

It’s a drumbeat buried

deep in peet.

Each branch a brushstroke on

the sky’s ledge

Each bird, a lyric in

morning’s cage.

The river, winding like a

serpent’s dream,

coils through glad in

whispers, swift and sly

It’s voice, a choir of stones and

moonlight gleam.

A mirror cracked with

fragment sky.

Beneath its skin,

the secrets of land.

Slip through the fingers of

silted hand.

Mountains loom like gods

with satin skin,

their spines etched deep

in unspoken lore.

They wear the snow like

crowns of discipline, and

watch the valleys tremble

at their roar.

A single hawk cuts silence

with its scream.

The wind, its herald, racing

down the stream.

Fields unfold like golden

tapestries unrolled.

Bees hum psalms no winter’s

frost can claim.

The earth, a priestess clothed

in root, chants birth and burial.

The ocean roars,

a lion caged in blue,

a mane of foam.

It claws the shore and

swallows the stars anew.

Each wave, a breath between

the storm and peace,

each tide, a pulse that

never finds release.

When night slips its

velvet veil on high,

the stars ignite like

lanterns in a mine.

The trees stretch tall to

cradle the dark sky,

their shadows dancing with

the moon’s design.

All nature hums a lullaby

of grace.

A living poem

cannot erase.