Beauty cannot be contained in ink,
Wonder is beyond the imaginations of what one can think
Ideas are truly the progeny of mind,
But it’s the heart that makes them kind.
A simple sway in the passage of the clock,
With one’s heart one honest talk.
With mirth in the thought,
A beautiful refuge is sought.
With smiles in the eye,
The words arrange by.
The beauty in the truth of joy,
Arranges itself in a poet, otherwise coy.
I wish I knew a bit more,
To paint my joys that soar
To express the magic of your prose
Inked for someone truly close
To express the silence of the joyful heart,
In which wholly you own the part !!!