One wish before the tide turns silver,
whisper it to the wind that knows my name;
let it ride the last whitecaps of summer,
fold it into moonlight,
slip it beneath your pillow—
a spark that still believes in dawn.
If the sky forgets to burn,
if the roses fail to open,
this wish will keep breathing
inside the shell of every song we sang.
Hold it where the dark can’t reach,
and when you wake,
we’ll trade silence for sunrise.