A shell may crack, a wing may stray,
But words will find their pond, their way.
From honk to hush, from quill to song,
A rhyme endures, though winds blow strong.

Two geese may quarrel, part, return,
Yet still their shared verse hums and yearns.
A feather dropped, a quill held tight —
Together writing through the night.

So let the ripples reach and roam,
For rhyme will always guide us home.