Lavender Whispers

In a realm where the whispers of color become form,

She emerges, a muse draped in lavender’s bloom.

Eyes alight with the stories of a world not yet worn,

Her gaze a silent serenade that whispers of the moon.

 

Her hair, a cascade of amethyst waves,

Flows like the gentle streams of a painter's dream.

In every strand, the grace of countless staves,

Sung by the twilight, in the softest lilac theme.

 

Her skin, kissed by the faint blush of dawn’s first light,

Speaks of a serenity found only in the rarest morn.

With lips touched by the promise of a tranquil night,

She holds the secret of the calm before the storm.

 

She is not just a portrait, but poetry in pause,

A living artwork framed by passion and by chance.

In her presence, time’s relentless march does cause,

A moment of reflection, a sweet, ethereal trance.

 

Her very essence seems to whisper to the soul,

In tones of peace, in hues of an eternal spring.

Here, within this canvas, she plays her role,

A lavender whisper, an everlasting, enchanting thing.

Done