The Cry of an Unwritten Poem

In a watercolor sky, where words are stars,
And the rain is the yearning that flows through the ages,
She appears quietly, without words:
From a gaze – a memory, from a touch – a song.

Her steps are the whisper of weary souls,
Walking through the night like silver mist.
In her palms – the fragments of others’ feelings,
That have come to life in the form of true words.

No one knows where she came from –
From the morning light or the shadow of a letter.
Perhaps her soul is the cry of an unwritten poem,
Searching for someone to whisper to in the coolness of the night.