HER WORDS, LIKE A LOVER'S SIGH
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She wrote in the velvet hush of dawn, before the world awoke and the sun, a brazen suitor, dared to claim the day. These were her secret hours, when her thoughts, like delicate blossoms, unfurled. She captured them in ink, these tender "inklings," painting with words the hidden beauty of the world. She wove tales of verdant, shadowed groves, where secrets whispered among the leaves, and of blushing daisies, their petals kissed by the first light. She imagined the Zephyr, a gentle, romantic messenger, carrying her verses on its soft breath, scattering them like whispered promises among the flowers. Her words, like a loverās sigh, were meant to linger, to enfold the world in a tender, romantic embrace.
WILLIAMSJI MAVELIĀ