I am the hush where wildflowers grow, A page half-turned in twilight’s grace. Where whispered poems softly flow, And stars find rest upon my face. I hold the scent of rain that stays, In roots and words and winds that roam. With ink-stained hands, I drift away Through stories that feel more like home. A feline soul — both soft and still, I dance where silence drinks the sky. In gentle paws and stubborn will, I breathe in peace and let storms die. So call me lovely, not for show — But for the calm I give, not take. A tender flame, a forest glow, A heart that heals, not dares to break.