Ribbons of light weave through February's chill,
A whispered promise, soft and still.
Hands entwined, or hearts alone,
Love blooms in ways yet unknown.
In quiet moments, truths unfold—
A friend's embrace, a story told,
Or the gentle grace of self-made art.
Love, in every form, is where we start.
Comments (1)
This felt like a warm hug. Beautiful poem!