She sang the songs... he wrote the words;
sweet words of love, in perfect time
to her style;
soft words of love...
the lyrics to her country songs
of love and heartbreak, hope and sadness;
life spread out in flawless rhyme;
but they were really hopes and dreams of his...
he knew this, all along.

She wrote lyrics too...
and when he read them
his heart missed a beat.
Beneath the stave, below the notes...
flowing in her child-like hand;
soft words of love he longed to hear her say to him...
all whispered, sweet.
Now, here they were, before his eyes...
but, accident?
Or gently planned?

Were they whispers of her heart?
Or just composed from out her head?
He had no way of knowing;
but, in either case... her words were sweet.
A silky glide across the page...
a wistful ballad... hearts that bled.
He sadly smiled;
yes... his heart bled as well,
but, to a different beat.

She sang the songs... he wrote the words;
words from his heart...
soft, yet intense.
Perhaps, one day she'd see they were for her...
and not her audience.