In the quiet corners of a restless heart,
Where shadows dance with fleeting dreams,
Sylvia’s whispers paint a tender start,
In the canvas of motherhood’s gentle streams.

Her pen, a beacon in the darkest night,
Illuminates the labyrinth of care and strife,
With every stroke, she seeks the light,
To cradle love in the cradle of life.

Beneath the weight of unspoken fears,
Her words carve paths through silken threads,
In the tapestry woven by laughter and tears,
Where every heartbeat softly treads.

Yet in her verses, a lullaby sings,
To the souls who walk the path she trod,
Echoes of a mother’s gentle wings,
In the sacred dance of life and thought.