The world, it spins—
But why?
The sun, it glows—
But why?
Poets compose their tender prose—
But why?
For you, my love, for you.
Each bloom, each hue,
each morning dew,
For you, it’s all for you.
My heart beats soft,
And forever true—
Always, and only for you.
About the Creator
Sandor Szabo
I’m looking to find a home for wayward words. I write a little bit of everything from the strange, to the moody, to a little bit haunted. If my work speaks to you, drop me a comment or visit my Linktree
https://linktr.ee/thevirtualquill
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