In the cradle of words, she softly speaks,
A language that dances on gentle breezes,
Her voice, a melody that never breaks,
Guiding us through life’s uncertain seasons.

Her verses flow like rivers deep and wide,
Carrying tales of love, loss, and dreams,
In every syllable, where secrets hide,
She weaves a tapestry of radiant seams.

Through her eyes, we see the world anew,
A kaleidoscope of colors and light,
Each phrase a brushstroke, bold and true,
Painting horizons with endless delight.

Oh, English mother, keeper of lore,
In your embrace, we find our place,
With every word, our spirits soar,
Bound together in your timeless grace.