Summary: A creative reflection on giving a small beginning more room to develop: longer phrases, patient changes, and a wider horizon without losing the original thread.

We started with a match beside the sea,
A little flame was all it had to be.
The wind came down and asked us for a song,
We cupped our hands and carried it along.

A path of stones went winding through the grass,
We left some room for other feet to pass.
And every turn revealed another view,
The road grew wide, the simple promise grew.

Give it time, give it room,
Let the quiet garden bloom.
Hold the thread, let it fly,
There is space beneath a wider sky.

The house we built had windows facing east,
A place for bread, a chair, a modest feast.
We moved the table closer to the door,
And found that less could welcome something more.

A longer breath can carry softer words,
A patient branch can hold a flock of birds.
No need to drag the river to the sea,
It finds the bends that let the water free.

Give it time, give it room,
Let the quiet garden bloom.
Hold the thread, let it fly,
There is space beneath a wider sky.

When evening folds its coat upon the hill,
The little flame is here beside us still.
Not every light must rise above the town,
Some show the way by shining closer down.