In fields where wildflowers sway and dance,
A gentle soul found her truest trance.
Mary, seeker of the quiet morn,
In nature’s arms, she was reborn.

Her words like rivers softly glide,
Through forests deep and mountains wide.
With every leaf and bird in flight,
She painted worlds of pure delight.

She walked the paths less traveled by,
Beneath the ever-changing sky.
With eyes that saw beyond the day,
She found the light in shadows’ play.

Now in the rustle of the trees,
Her spirit lingers on the breeze.
A whisper in the evening’s glow,
Her legacy, a gentle flow.