I’m last in line, yet first in me,

a single mark, but wild and free.

I start my name, my quiet key —

guess the letter meant to

be.

It’s the calm between the rain and sky,

a color that breathes when the world runs dry.

It hums of life in things unseen,

the softest shade I’ve ever bee

n.

It’s when the air turns soft and colder,

when sunsets burn and nights grow bolder.

Between the warmth and winter’s shoulder,

you’ll find my month — before it’s ov

er.

I see the world, then make it new,

with tools of thought and metal too.

Creation hums — it calls me near,

the dream I hold is crystal cle

ar.