In the quiet of morningâs grace,
Her words whisper through the trees,
Soft echoes in the gentle breeze,
A spirit of beauty, time cannot erase.
Her verses dance on a moonlit page,
With tender thoughts of love and loss,
A poetess who bore no cross,
Yet painted life with vibrant sage.
Amidst the garden’s blooming heart,
She found her solace, pure and deep,
Where dreams and nature softly sleep,
In every line, she plays her part.
Through shadows cast by fleeting light,
Her gentle soul speaks softly still,
In every word, her gentle will,
Guiding hearts through darkest night.