The stones once bare now seem alive,
They breathe because your steps arrive.
The cracks they bear grow soft, undone,
Beneath the warmth your soul has spun.

The roses hush, the breezes sing,
They weave your name on twilight’s wing.
Each echo soft, each whisper true,
Proclaims the night belongs to you.

The ivy leans, the dusk turns kind,
It bends to serve your radiant mind.
The silence grows, the darkness stills,
And bows before your tender will.