A single flame dances,
small but steady,
piercing the shadows of waiting.
It flickers not in defiance,
but in quiet assurance:
the promise is near.

Hope leans forward,
stretching toward a dawn
still hidden behind the veil of night.
Not yet seen,
but deeply felt—
a pulse in the silence,
a cool breeze caresses the face.

The prophets’ voices echo,
ancient yet alive,
calling from the wilderness:
“Prepare the way!”
Their words build bridges of trust,
their visions kindle the spark
that refuses to fade.

And so, we wait,
not in despair,
but with hearts uplifted—
like Mary,
believing the impossible,
treasuring the Word
before it takes form.

This week, we hold hope
in trembling hands,
cupping its fragile flame,
knowing it is enough.
For even the smallest light
shatters the deepest dark.