The village hushed, a fragile, ancient breath,
two figures moved through light and fading day.
Their vibrant silks, a prelude to stark death.
Fear tightened hearts, a cold and creeping dread,
but from that grip, a quiet strength took hold.
A silent promise, not easily unsaid.
No grand heroics, just a humble stride,
a path made livable through murky choices.
Hope, like a flicker, deep inside.
A stoic will, a lamb in winter's frost,
enduring seasons, through generosity's might.
No lesson truly, utterly lost.
As dawn arrived, no fanfare pierced the air,
just mud-streaked cloth, and hands that gently met.
A quiet courage, blossoming from despair.