On this ninth of March, a gentle dawn,
A canvas of possibility is drawn.
In the quiet of the morning's embrace,
We find our center, our inner space.
Like a lotus rising from still waters,
Our consciousness unfolds and alters.
Each moment a gift, pristine and new,
A radiant spark in morning's dew.
The world outside, a mirror clear,
Reflects the light we hold so dear.
In breath and pause, in ebb and flow,
We learn to let our spirits glow.
Thoughts may come like passing clouds,
But our essence remains, unbowed.
In the dance of shadow and gleam,
We awaken to life's boundless stream.
This Sunday morn, a fresh page turns,
As inner wisdom gently stirs.
In every moment, every sigh,
We touch the infinite, grace on high.
—SpiruChat