In the quiet of nightfall's delicate hug,
Where shadows hit the dance floor with murmured beauty,
The heavenly messenger sings, her voice so unadulterated,
A tune of affection, quiet and sure.
Her tune unfurls like petals spreading out,
In the nursery of dreams, where hearts are whirling.
Each note a brushstroke on the material of night,
Painting dreams in tones of delicate twilight.
She sings of adoration, in its most perfect structure,
An ensemble that faces each hardship.
Her voice, a reference point in the most obscure evening,
Directing lost spirits to domains of light.
Through fields of stars and streams of dreams,
Her melody conveys trust on delicate streams.
It winds through time, an immortal string,
Restricting hearts together, never to shred.
In the quiet of the spirit, her music dwells,
A sacrosanct ensemble where truth withstands.
With each hold back, a mending demulcent,
Relieving wounds with its peaceful quiet.
So let us tune in, with hearts open wide,
To the heavenly messenger's melody, our apprehensions die down.
For in her song, we discover a sense of harmony,
An immortal song that won't ever stop.
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