In the quiet of the night, she weaves her dreams,
Sylvia, a mother, in silent screams.
Her pen, a sword, slashes through the dark,
Leaving trails of love, as embers spark.

Beneath the weight of life’s heavy shroud,
She speaks in whispers, never loud.
Her children, her anchor, her light,
Guiding her through the longest night.

The pain she hides, the joy she shows,
In motherhood’s embrace, she grows.
A dance of shadows, light, and grace,
In her words, we find a sacred space.

Sylvia’s legacy, a testament so true,
Of a mother’s love, both old and new.
Through ink and tears, her story’s told,
A heart of warmth, in a world so cold.