In secret corners, love unfolds, On crumpled paper, stories told. Each word you write, a whispered song, Where heartbeats pulse and dreams belong. With ink that dances, tender, bright, You turn my mornings into light. A gentle nod to Austen's muse, Yet even Darcy might refuse, His pride and charm, to run this race, For in your notes, I've found my place. Sweet scribbled lines of love and thought, In you, my dearest, bliss I've caught. So thank you, love, for every note, In simple words, our hearts devote.