In the whispers of the evening breeze, tales untold unfold, A poem written in silence, a story left untold.
Few things left unsaid, lingering in the air, Unspoken words, heavy with the weight they bear.
Beneath the moon\'s soft glow, secrets quietly weep, Echoes of emotions, in the shadows, secrets keep.
A dance of thoughts, a ballet of the unsaid, In the canvas of the heart, where emotions are spread.
A symphony of silence, where feelings softly play, Notes of love and longing, in the quiet they sway.
A few things left unsaid, like stars yet to align, In the vast expanse of the heart, where emotions intertwine.
The pen of time writes on, but some stories remain unscribed, In the book of the heart, where emotions abide.
Few things left unsaid, like chapters incomplete, Yet in the spaces between, love and memories discreet.
Through the corridors of time, where echoes softly tread, Resides a collection of whispers, few things left unsaid.
In the garden of emotions, where seeds of silence are sown, A poem of the heart, with verses yet unknown.