In the shadows beneath the eaves
where silence curls & sorrow grieves
a cradle stirs with a sound so slight
blind-born mice in dreamless night

Their nest, a cradle built of dust
of feathered hope & softened rust
now trembles at a distant song
a sparrow’s hymn, so bright, so wrong

The fledgling calls from heights unseen
where light still breaks through branches green
but down below in earthen keep
the children stir from silent sleep

Squeaks rise like incense through the gloom
ghost-notes in a chapel’s tomb
as if the soul of darkened things
could answer light with hollow wings

No sermon here, no sacred bell
just nature’s chant in heaven’s shell
where even beasts in death’s arrest
still echo life with trembling chest

O grace that moves through root & sky
teach us to weep & still reply