The wind has spoken all the names
In whispers they have softly slid 
Through the browning leaves of Fall
Behind each blade of grass are hid.
More names than stars within the sky,
More than the fabled grains of sand.
Some too complex to try to spell
Or yet to clearly understand.
Yet their sound though very soft
Was loud enough for me to hear
There amongst them that special one
Of she who is so very dear.

The sound of love unmissable 

The lips of love that own the name

Deservedly so kissable.

© Griffonner 2025