True tenderness opens folios
of which others cannot dream,
for thus denser, thicker is
the sleep they chose to live.
With that ornate tenderness
they write and read fair lines
of finer scripts, having eyes
that see as much and hearts
from where meeting harmonies
collect their kindling pulse
with a glow to tap on underneath.
Since keen and tender are soul’s strings,
and only so attuned, they yield an art
that invites in the light of timeless melody.
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