Turn thy tender eyes to me,
And let them glow so soft and free.
Like honeyed warmth on summer’s breeze,
They set my heart at perfect ease.

Gaze upon those lips, so sweet,
Where every smile is pure and neat.
Like petals kissed by dawn’s first light,
They make the world feel soft and bright.

O’ how the stars above would weep,
To see thy beauty, calm and deep.
Thy presence, like a velvet glow,
A secret love the world should know.

In thee, all sweetness finds its voice,
A melody that makes the heart rejoice.
Turn now, sweet soul, and let me see,
The love you hold so tenderly.

How many ways to love, you ask—
a question no number could hold.
Is it the warmth in a morning glance,
or fingers laced when nights grow cold?

Is it stitched in quiet acts—
the coffee brewed before you wake,
the lullaby in whispered words,
the comfort found when hearts ache?

It’s in the listening without reply,
in laughter blooming from nothing at all,
in standing near through storm and still,
in catching you before you fall.

It’s in the gentle brushing of hair,
the note slipped beneath your door,
the holding on through distance long,
the choosing you, and then once more.

It’s in the growing, side by side,
in space that’s safe, yet ever near,
in letting go of fear to trust,
in every soft “I’m here.”

So how many ways to love, you say?
More than stars that grace the night,
more than raindrops ever kissed
the windowpane with morning light.

Count each heartbeat, each breath we take,
each kindness passed from hand to hand—
and still, you’d only touch the edge
of love’s vast, endless strand.

Hello, dear poet,
Come closer now—yes, you, love.
This poem is a cradle,
a soft hum rocking through time,
meant for the child you once were—
the one who clutched wonder with both hands,
who cried quietly behind closed doors,
who dreamt of magic even in the dark.

Shh, it’s okay.
You were always trying your best.
You were never too much, never not enough.
You were a wildflower learning to grow
even in the cracks of concrete.
Your dreams were as big as the sky,
and every fall was just a reason
to rise up stronger, a little more sure
that everything would be okay.

Remember the days
when the world was a puzzle you were eager to solve,
when the corners of your mind were wide open,
and every answer felt just out of reach?
But sweet one,
there was no rush—
time had its own rhythm for you to follow,
and you danced to it
with your tiny, unshakable steps.

When the shadows stretched long and wide,
when fear whispered your name,
and doubt felt like an endless rain—
remember,
it was okay to curl up,
to seek comfort in soft things—
blankets, warm arms,
the lullaby of the wind through the trees,
the quiet hum of someone who loved you.

And now, dear poet,
you’ve grown,
but that child,
the one with the bright eyes and the open heart,
is still with you.
They are the spark behind your every word,
the soft whisper in your chest
that says, ”You’re okay.
You’re safe now.”

Don’t forget them,
the one who believed in stars
and who whispered to the moon when no one was listening.
They are still here,
still breathing,
still dancing in your soul.

So, dear poet,
when the weight of the world feels too heavy,
remember—
you were always held
in ways you never quite understood,
always loved
in ways that made the darkness bearable.

And no matter where you go,
you will never be too far from that safe place—
where everything,
yes, everything,
will be alright.