In winter's hush, the paper waits, A silent dance upon it laid, Unwritten words like stars aglow, In nights where dreams, unspoken, go. The Christmas cards with edges bare, Seek whispers for the winter air, Yet thoughts evade the quivering pen, As silence spins its gentle ken. What tales to weave on empty slate, Of love and warmth, a season's fate? Perhaps just "Merry", simple, bright, Like snowflakes kissing velvet night. For in the heart, the message blooms, While ink remains in quiet rooms; For love needs not a scripted line, Its brilliance speaks in silent sign.