In the darkest night, you always shine,
A beacon of hope, a light so divine.
Through stormy seas and skies so grey,
Your brilliance guides, showing the way.

With every dawn, your glow renews,
A promise of dreams, of skies so blue.
In every heart, your warmth does stay,
A gentle touch, come what may.

You walked on water, calmed the storm,
In your embrace, we are reborn.
With love and grace, you lead us through,
Jesus, our Saviour, we trust in you.

So keep on shining, bright and true,
For the world is better, because of you.
In every moment, near or far,
You always shine, our guiding star.

The morning sun rises,
casting golden hues on empty shelves.
A quiet sigh escapes,
as the fridge door closes,
echoing the absence.

No milk today,
a simple truth,
yet it ripples through the day.
Coffee, dark and bitter,
cereal, dry and plain,
a reminder of what’s missing.

The cat meows,
eyes wide with expectation,
but the bowl remains empty,
a silent apology.

In the stillness,
memories of mornings past,
when the world felt full,
and the milk flowed freely,
creeping into the present.

No milk today,
but life goes on,
in the small moments,
the quiet resilience,
finding sweetness in the unexpected.

In the quiet of the morning, as the sun begins to rise,
A man sits by the window, with memories in his eyes.
With a wistful sigh, he journeys back through time,
To the days of youth and laughter, in a life once so sublime.

Those were the days when the world seemed so vast,
A canvas of dreams, where moments never passed.
With friends by his side and adventures to chase,
They roamed through fields of wonder, leaving not a trace.

The summers were endless, with skies a brilliant blue,
Long afternoons spent dreaming, and nights of starlit view.
They'd gather 'round the campfire, with tales to share and spin,
Those were the days when magic dwelled within.

The first taste of love, so sweet and so pure,
A heart full of promise, with a bond that would endure.
They danced beneath the moonlight, with whispers soft and low,
Those were the days when love would always grow.

Through the seasons of life, in a tapestry of change,
The man recalls the moments, both familiar and strange.
The laughter and the heartache, the triumphs and the tears,
Those were the days that shaped his fleeting years.

He remembers the scent of rain on the summer breeze,
The feeling of freedom, as they climbed the tallest trees.
With a heart full of courage, they faced the world so bold,
Those were the days when dreams were made of gold.

But time has a way of drifting, like a leaf upon the stream,
The past becomes a memory, a distant, fading dream.
Yet in the quiet moments, when the world is still and bright,
He cherishes the echoes of those days, with all his might.

Now the man sits in reflection, with a smile upon his face,
For though the years have flown, they've left a gentle trace.
In the twilight of his journey, he finds solace in the past,
Knowing those were the days that were meant to last.

Once upon a time there was a tavern,
In the heart of town, where stories were woven.
With laughter, tears, and memories to share,
A barman stood, his smile ever so rare.

Behind the counter, he worked with grace,
A friendly face in that warm, cosy place.
With nimble hands, he poured and mixed,
A master of potions, full of tricks.

He knew each customer by name,
Their joys, their sorrows, their every aim.
With a listening ear and a heart of gold,
He turned the mundane into tales retold.

When evening came and the firelight dimmed,
The barman’s spirit never once thinned.
He shared a laugh, a joke, a knowing wink,
Making friends out of strangers with just one drink.

Through the bustle and the hum of chatter,
He moved with ease, never one to scatter.
A confidant, a guide, a friend so dear,
In the heart of the tavern, always near.

As nights grew late and the moonlight glowed,
The barman’s tales and warmth bestowed,
A sense of comfort, a place to unwind,
In that humble tavern, a treasure to find.

I am sitting in a café,
On a rainy Saturday,
Watching people pass the window,
As they hurry on their way.

The barista's making coffee,
Steam is rising in the air,
I can hear the gentle chatter,
Of the patrons everywhere.

A couple's sharing secrets,
In a corner by the door,
While a student reads her textbook,
Sprawled across the table's floor.

The rain keeps softly falling,
On the pavement, on the street,
And the rhythm of the raindrops,
Matches footsteps of the feet.

I sip my cup of coffee,
Feeling warm and feeling fine,
In this little cozy café,
Where the world is left behind.

A man is reading headlines,
From a paper in his hand,
He frowns and sips his latte,
As he tries to understand.

A child is drawing pictures,
With crayons on a pad,
Her mother smiles beside her,
At the artwork she has had.

The door chime rings, a newcomer,
Shakes the raindrops from his coat,
He orders something warming,
And he clears his scratchy throat.

The café hums with life now,
As the morning turns to noon,
And the rain outside keeps falling,
To a gentle, soothing tune.

"I know where I am going, and you can't follow me,"
She declared with a voice, resolute and free.
In the depths of her eyes, a storm had started,
While they stood at a crossroad, soon to be parted.

"Why do you think you can walk this path alone?
In your silence, my heart has already known,"
His voice trembled, his words etched in sorrow,
Yet in her resolve, she could not borrow.

"For this journey, my soul must fly unchained,
Where dreams and desires once faintly waned.
I’ve found a place where my spirit can soar,
Where life’s meaning blooms, as never before.”

"But why? Why must you leave me behind?
In our stories, our lives were intertwined.
The world we built with laughter and strife,
Am I not a part of your purpose and life?"

“It’s not you; it's the destiny I heed,
A call that whispers my heart’s deepest need.
To fields beyond, where stars gleam brighter,
Where burdens shed make souls so much lighter.”

Tears glistened on cheeks, hearts heavy with sorrow,
Two paths now split; no shared tomorrow.
“I love you,” she said with a pained plea,
“I know where I am going, and you can't follow me.”

With that, they turned, futures newly aligned,
Separate ways, with memories in mind.
A love not lost, but transformed in time,
A bittersweet end, in life’s tender rhyme.

In a kitchen quite untidy, with flour on the floor,
Lived a perplexed pancake, unsure what life had in store.
With spatulas and whisks, and a mix of eggs and flour,
The pancake pondered purpose, through syrup’s *******.

Its comrades were exaggerations of breakfast’s finest fare,
A waffle who could moonwalk, and toast with jelly hair.
They tumbled out the toaster, with a grace that’s simply grand,
While pancake flopped and floundered, on the griddle it would land.

Surprise and twists they found there, in the breakfast mess so sweet,
A sausage served as CEO, in an apron far too neat.
Relatable mishaps, oh how they did unfold,
The bacon strips, they tangled, in a battle bold.

“Why must I be this shape?” the pancake sighed one day,
“I yearn for something more, perhaps a grand soufflé.”
With irony and sarcasm, the kitchenware replied,
“Embrace your round existence, it’s in circles you abide!”

A hyperbolic moment, as syrup fountains flowed,
The pancake spun around and in syrupy joy, it glowed.
Absurdity and nonsense, a sight to surely see,
For in that kitchen’s chaos, the pancake found its glee.

So here’s to all the breakfasts, to the pancakes in a stack,
To quirky, comical moments, with humour at the max.
For in this life of laughter, there’s magic to uncover,
In every flip and flop, in each sweet syrupy shudder.