Poetic Hideaway Hub

A spark of joy, a gentle flame,   It warms the heart, it knows no name.   Through winter nights or summer skies,   Its glow remains, it never dies.   It lives in laughter, soft and true,   In kindness shared, in all we do.   No gift too small, no smile too late,   Love opens doors, it shifts our fate.   The seasons turn, the years will run,   Yet hope shines bright like morning sun.   For every soul, in every place,   The spark of joy becomes our grace.   And when the shadows start to grow,   This light will teach the heart to know:   Though time may change, though paths may bend,   The glow of joy will never end.

The morning breaks in gentle hue,   A sky of gold, the world feels new.   Laughter drifts, the voices sing,   Happiness hides in the simplest thing.   A smile exchanged, a hand held tight,   A candle glowing soft at night.   No grand parade, no crown, no throne,   Just warmth that whispers, "You’re not alone."   Seasons turn, the years will fly,   Leaves will fall, yet hope won’t die.   For joy remains, a steady flame,   It lights our hearts, it stays the same.   So dance with time, embrace the day,   Let kindness guide along the way.   Life is rich when love is near,   And happiness waits, year after year.

Verse 1 He drifts through winters past the map, His lamp is flick’ring low; Its hue will shift from age to age, As time begins to flow. Verse 2 He watched the Romans toast the night, In halls of stone and gold; His crooked hat tilts to and fro, To catch the secrets told. Chorus Where moonlight drifts on silver snow, The light is cold and bright; You hear his laughter echo low, Beyond the walls of night. The cold winds carry: Confusio. Verse 3 He danced with goats in fields of frost, And sang a Satyr's song; He tripped the iron gears of time, Where right was poured with wrong. Verse 4 He bartered jokes with wandering kings, And gave the monks a bird— A clockwork toy for sacred scrolls, With riddles for each word. Verse 5 He crossed the steppes where cold stars gleam, To stir the edge of sleep; He walks where ancient stories dream, In snowdrifts wide and deep. Verse 6 The Sir of mischief takes his hand, To twist the rules of lore; He pours the truth into a lie, To laugh for evermore....