The way he listens, like a quiet lake,
Reflects back truths we’d rather not confess, His silence, a mirror, so hard to break, Holding the weight of our own tangled mess.

In his brown eyes the storms of others dissolve, He navigates hearts like an ancient sea, A compass in hand, his touch can resolve Wounds too deep for most to even see.

No need for words when empathy’s his art,
He...