She wrote poems to the butterflies, and they batted their wings to the lyricism of her words
She read stories to the trees, and they blossomed to the sunshine of her voice
She sang lullabies to the oceans, and the waters swayed to the limitless echo of the syllables which farewelled her lips
She caressed the sun, and he surrendered his power to the silken skin which embodied a soul of gold
She kissed the clouds, and the skies watered the forests with their tears of joy
She loved him,
and although the earth, the skies, and its oceans did too,
He could not love her back.
Nov 21, 2018
Nov 21, 2018 at 3:57 PM UTC
She wrote poems to the butterflies, and they batted their wings to the lyricism of her words
She read stories to the trees, and they blossomed to the sunshine of her voice
She sang lullabies to the oceans, and the waters swayed to the limitless echo of the syllables which farewelled her lips
She caressed the sun, and he surrendered his power to the silken skin which embodied a soul of gold
She kissed the clouds, and the skies watered the forests with their tears of joy
She loved him,
and although the earth, the skies, and its oceans did too,
He could not love her back.
