In the quiet of the evening’s sigh,
Where shadows dance and dreams reside,
Her whispered love, a gentle cry,
In verses where her soul confides.

Moonlit paths she softly treads,
With words that weave a tender spell,
Her heart, a book of love unread,
In secret lines where whispers dwell.

Through stormy nights and silent days,
Her love, a beacon in the storm,
In every poem, her heart conveys,
A warmth to keep the spirit warm.

Sylvia’s love, a timeless grace,
Etched in ink, her soul’s embrace,
In every word, a soft caress,
A whispered love that knows no space.