She walks with grace the world can’t name,

A gentle soul, a steady flame.

Her eyes hold peace, her voice the air,

That makes the heavy heart repair.

She’d smile and ask with playful art,

“Have you seen hands like mine, my heart?”

Then laugh so soft the silence knew,

That joy had found a home anew.

She once said, “Say mama, papa again,”

And smiled as if the stars were rain.

Such little things, yet somehow they,

Still linger warm in night and day.

Her beauty shines, but not to boast,

It’s in her care I feel the most.

For love of self and love she gives,

She is the poem my spirit lives.