In the quiet hours before dawn’s break,
Her pen would dance, her heart awake.
A mother’s love, a poet’s plight,
In shadows deep, she found her light.

Between the verses and the cries,
She wove her world with lullabies.
A fragile strength, a whispered song,
In motherhood, she found where she belonged.

The midnight oil, the sleepless nights,
Her children’s dreams, her silent fights.
Through Sylvia’s eyes, the world would see,
The bond of love, the pain of free.

In every line, her soul was bared,
A poet’s tale, a mother’s care.
Her legacy, a timeless thread,
Of words unspoken, thoughts widespread.