In the golden hush of an Italian evening, Tiah unfurls like a cognac-hued peony kissed by a Tuscan breeze, its syllables rising in a lyrical TEE-uh that feels both timeless and tender. Born to the same root as the Latin Laetitia—joy—and echoing the Greek spirit of Letitia, she carries in her name the promise of laughter and light, while a whispered nod to the Hebrew Tiyah lends her the grace of a gazelle leaping through dawn’s first rays. Though in the United States she graces fewer than ten newborn registers each year, ranking gently around the nine-hundreds, each Tiah remains as singular as a Vespa parked just so on a narrow cobblestone street. Warmth radiates from her every letter, inviting stories to bloom like vines around an old Venetian well, where every whispered “Tiah” becomes a testament to hope, kinship, and the exuberant poetry of life.
| Tiah Delaney - |