Evening whispers to the grass,
"Friendly tongues, hidden paths to wonder."
Do butterflies know our names?
Listen! A tiny word grows on the edge of dreams.
It giggles. It doesn't want to sleep just yet.
When the stars practice their recital,
they turn syllables into wings made of light.
I can almost touch them with my heart.
Is the moon a language we forgot?
Teacher says, "Playtime with shadows!"