In the quiet of dawn, when shadows retreat,

The world awakens, its canvas incomplete.

Mottled hues emerge, a whispered refrain,

Nature’s brushstrokes dancing in gentle rain.

Bark of ancient trees, weathered and wise,

Wears its history proudly, etched in disguise.

Mottled like secrets whispered to the breeze,

Each scar a testament to resilience and ease.

Feathers of a sparrow, delicate and small,

Mottled brown and cream, a camouflage thrall.

They flutter in hedgerows, unseen by most eyes,

A symphony of subtlety beneath cerulean skies.

And what of time itself, mottled and worn?

Its tapestry woven with memories reborn.

The laughter, the tears, the moments we keep,

A patchwork of life stitched while the world sleeps.

So let us celebrate the mottled and true,

The imperfect beauty that we often eschew.

For within those speckled shades, stories unfold,

And life’s rich palette finds its magic, bold.

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