In the quiet whispers of the past,
Her gentle voice lingers long,
A melody in the morning’s breath,
A silent strength, steadfast and strong.
Through fields of gold and autumn’s grace,
Her hands, tender, guide the way,
Weaving tales of love and life,
In every gentle touch, sheâd stay.
The hearth warmed by her presence dear,
In shadows, her memories dance,
A bond unbroken by time’s flight,
In every glance, a second chance.
Seasons change, yet her essence remains,
A light that time cannot dim,
In Seamus’s words, she lives anew,
A timeless echo, a mother’s hymn.