In gardens where the roses bloom,
Whispers of poets fill the air,
Their inked words, a gentle loom,
Weaving tales of love so rare.

Shakespeare’s sonnets, timeless art,
Speak of beauty, time, and fate,
While Neruda’s verses warm the heart,
With love’s eternal, vibrant state.

From the quiet of Dickinson’s room,
To the wild cries of Whitman’s song,
Each poet finds in love a bloom,
A melody where hearts belong.

So let us wander in their dreams,
In every line, a lover’s grace,
For in their words, love’s essence gleams,
A timeless dance in endless space.