Poetry is not barren but definitely an art,
When the poet is in mood, words flow out from heart.
They rise like sparks from a secret flame,
Turning simple moments into love’s sweetest game.
Emotions shape verses — tender or fierce,
Some lines heal wounds, a few deeply pierce.
When thoughts overflow, they blossom into a song,
And playing with words makes fragile hearts strong.
When love is the muse, every rhyme becomes bright,
Every phrase feels warmer, every pause feels right.
For in the whispers of poetry, lovers impart
A world that begins and ends in the heart.
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