You don’t arrive with noise or flare,
no grand display to prove you’re there;
just steady hands, a watchful eye,
and colours where the days ran dry.
You make things live that weren’t before,
pull quiet truths from hidden drawers;
each line you draw, each shade you lay
feels like you’re holding doubt at bay.
And somehow, past the work you show,
there’s more in all the things you do,
a quiet giving, freely made,
no ledger kept, no debts to trade.
You stepped in where the ground gave way,
not asking what you’d get or say,
just saw the need and bridged the space
with open hands and thoughtful grace.
It’s not just art that makes you rare,
it’s how you choose to show you care,
you lift the weight you never claim,
and leave the world less sharp, less strained.
You’ve changed the shape of how I see
what someone good can truly be,
not loud, not forced, not carved above,
but built from action, trust, and love.
So here’s to you; no grand parade,
no borrowed words or debts repaid,
just this: you matter, more than known,
in every life your light has grown.