Under the weeping willow tree…

Under the weeping willow tree…

Under the weeping willow tree,
there are we – just you and me.
Two souls with ink upon their hands,
dreaming of love that never ends.

A ladybug wanders across the book page.
Slowly the willow casts its shade,
a shadow falling over the world,
but somehow it feels like shelter – not weight.

Whispers of pages, soft letters bend,
writing and reading, as the moments blend.
The world may forget, yet we still feel it all,
the depth of a thought, the beauty, the rise and the fall.

Moments blending… and vanishing again.

Not only touch, but dialogue of truths,
a canvas awaiting, a poem of two souls.
Half-written lines, eternal embrace,
time cannot steal this sacred space between us.

Your lap holds my hair…
oh, in silence it lies.
You read with a calmness
that steadies even the skies.
Your hand traces quiet lines
on the map of my skin.
I laugh and you follow,
not knowing why.
Our voices fold and fold again,
until even they come out as one.

Under the weeping willow tree,
there are we… endlessly.