Within the quiet of a gentle night,
Where stars hang like whispered dreams,
Words dance upon the parchment sea,
A symphony of silent streams.

The pen, a wand of ink and thought,
Weaves tales from shadows and light,
In every stroke, a world is caught,
In every pause, a moment’s flight.

Verses build a bridge of time,
Between the hearts of then and now,
A tapestry of rhythm and rhyme,
Where every line is a solemn vow.

So let the pages softly turn,
As ink spills secrets from the soul,
In every line, let passions burn,
For poetry makes the spirit whole.