In the quiet whispers of dawn, she writes,
With ink that bleeds through the paper’s edge,
Life’s tapestry woven in gentle fights,
Her heart an open book, a living pledge.

Words like rivers flow from her soul’s core,
Each stanza a mirror to her deepest fears,
Yet in the pain, she finds a door,
To worlds of healing, through her tears.

In solitude she finds her light,
A beacon to those lost in night,
Her verses, a balm to the weary heart,
Crafting hope, a work of art.

Through seasons of silence and storm,
She stands unyielding, ever warm,
Her life a testament, a guiding star,
In her words, we find who we are.