In the realm where whispers dance on air, I see the spirits, gentle and rare. Messages flow like ink from the past, Through time's slender fingers, they're cast. They carry love on a silver breeze, Healing hearts and bending knees. They see your pain, in shadows concealed, Their own hearts break as wounds are revealed. Yet they can't hold you, nor wipe your tears, Only pass messages through veils of years. With the Lord and the loved ones' guiding light, I stand with pride, in this ethereal rite. I'm a spiritualist, a bridge to the sky, With compassion's soft touch, I soar and fly. In this sacred task, I find my place, An envoy of love, in the human race.