In the quiet corners of his heart,
Where words often dare not tread,
Atticus whispers tales of love,
In silence, his soul is fed.

Beneath the gaze of moonlit skies,
He finds solace in her eyes,
A gentle touch, a fleeting glance,
Love’s dance in whispered sighs.

Through the echoes of the night,
His heart beats a tender song,
In every shadow, every light,
Her presence where he belongs.

Atticus, with love unspoken,
Weaves dreams in the fabric of time,
A tapestry of silent devotion,
In unvoiced verses, sublime.