In the quiet cradle of twilight’s embrace,
Sylvia’s whispers weave through the night,
Her voice, a gentle lullaby’s trace,
Echoes of love in the soft moonlight.

Her pen, a conduit of maternal grace,
Scribbles the fears of a mother’s plight,
In every verse, a tender space,
Cradling her children in poetic flight.

Beneath the weight of the world’s demand,
She crafts a sanctuary with ink and quill,
A haven where her thoughts expand,
Reflecting a love that’s steadfast and still.

Through Sylvia’s lines, we feel the blend,
Of joy and sorrow, intertwined,
A mother’s heart, an eternal friend,
In every poem, her spirit enshrined.