The morning breaks with silent grace,
yet paths unfold in disarray.
The mirror shows a stranger's face,
and dreams dissolve in light of day.
We plan our steps,we hope,we pray
--
but fate rewrites the melody.
The script we wrote is swept away-
life isn't always what it expects to be.

A love once sure may drift from place,
a promise fall,a truth betray.
Time weaves its thread with no embrace,
its needle stitching shades of grey.
We chase the sun,it will not stay,
it sinks behind a silent sea.
The heart learns slow,but still must say:
life isn't always what it expects to be.

Yet still we walk,with fragile pace,
through storms that will not let us stray.
Each sorrow leaves a tender trace,
each loss a price we somehow pay.
But from the dark,a softer way
emerges-grief gives birth to plea:
Let mercy find us when we say
life isn't always what it expects to be.

Envoi:
Dear soul,if truth must shape the clay,
then carve it gently,patiently-
for all who've lived have learned this way:
life isn't always what it expects to be.