The Unseen Hand of Destiny
In hush of evening moves an unseen hand at night,
It spins the quiet threads of sorrow into light;
No trumpet sounds its entry, no stage reveals its plan,
Yet we walk the paths it sketches, the fate of every man.
It works in silent bargains, shaping fate by chance;
It turns the smallest choice into the rhythm of a dance;
The unseen hand asks nothing, makes no loud demand,
But leaves its marks in footsteps and bids the weary stand.
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