Inkling Roots

[Verse 1]
Dust motes waltz in sun-dusted air,
Then your sharp script, a quiet, knowing dare.
A penciled vine, creeping through the printed prose,
Where a forgotten thought silently grows.
I trace the lines, a whispered, ancient plea,
A clever echo, reaching out to me.

[Chorus]
Oh, these margin blooms, a clever, quiet code,
Your roots twine with mine, on this paper road.
A silent symposia, a shared, knowing nod.

[Verse 2]
You argued back, with careful, curling lines,
Where my own mind often entwines.
A sprightly thistle, pricking at the printed text,
My own agreement, coming truly next.
A bloom of ink, a tiny, fervent seed,
Sown by a stranger, fulfilling a deep need.

[Chorus]
Oh, these margin blooms, a clever, quiet code,
Your roots twine with mine, on this paper road.
A silent symposia, a shared, knowing nod.

[Bridge]
The light outside, it shifts and softly fades,
But these small voices, bloom through sunlit decades.
An unseen lineage, a quiet, knowing thread,
From seeds you planted, long before you fled.
Each brittle page, a verdant, hidden bed,
Where untold stories, quietly are fed.

[Chorus]
Oh, these margin blooms, a clever, quiet code,
Your roots twine with mine, on this paper road.
A silent symposia, a shared, knowing nod.

[Outro]
Just margin blooms, on an old, forgotten leaf.
Where hidden roots, find tender, sweet relief.