In the quiet of the morning,
When the world is still asleep,
Mary walks through fields of golden,
Her heart a secret she must keep.
The wind it whispers softly,
Through the trees it sings her name,
With every step she takes so lightly,
Life and dreams become the same.
Her eyes a window to her soul,
Reflecting skies both dark and blue,
In her gaze, a story told,
Of hopes and fears and dreams anew.
Mary, a gentle light in darkness,
A beacon for the lost and weary,
Her spirit guides with love and kindness,
A tale of grace, both sweet and eerie.