In the quiet of the night, my pen begins its dance,
On the paper, it moves with a silent trance.
Words flow like rivers, each line a gentle stream,
Capturing the essence of a writer’s dream.

Every stroke, a whisper from the soul so deep,
A tale of memories, promises we keep.
Ink spills emotions, both old and new,
Painting a picture with every hue.

The page becomes a canvas, white and pure,
Awaiting the magic of thoughts obscure.
Each letter a brushstroke, each word a hue,
Crafting a masterpiece, vivid and true.

In the stillness, the writer’s heart finds peace,
As the pen dances on, the worries cease.
A tapestry of words, woven with grace,
In the silent symphony, we find our place.