The nice of quiet, delicate virtue,
It's to save the lines of my heart,
Those who whisper in silence,
Words that only your soul understands.
In the echo of silence, I find calm,
A quiet corner where I can trust,
For in silence, words become eternal,
Plasmated on the canvas of my being, unwithered.
In every stare held, a thousand sigh,
At every pause, a story to tell,
For in silence lies the supreme magic,
Where feelings fly unabated.
The nice of quiet, noble art of love,
It's weaving dreams with mystery threads,
Where the gestures and the looks whisper,
Unique songs that only you and I know.
In this silence, the universe is drawn,
Where the delivery is expressed without words,
Where heartbeat becomes poetry,
Revealing love in rare ways.
So, the nice thing about being quiet, like white canvas,
It is where the essence of affection is given,
And I can deliver, to you, my being completely,
In every word not spoken, in every perfect embrace.