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That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,
And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.
I've heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
Her pillow came to life, chestnut eyes clearing in order to put a cloudless sky into perspective, before her head tipped further back in order to discover an ebony fluff of hair.
Lips curling ever so slightly had him sighing his defeat, her spill of curles draping further into his lap as she shifted again in order to find his eyes on her. Around them the wind hissed through the tall grass, tugging at whatever it could get hold of.
His chuckle was like music to her ears, silence reclaiming them for a while as they found solace within their own minds. And when his voice came, she was smiling already.
In answer she pulled her fingers back, opened the book at random and trusted his eyes not to find the page.
And drew around it other thoughts like bees
Happiness due to state of innocence and purity