She is a lustrous moon in a twilight soiree,
Her nature, a tapestry of grace spun finely.
In her silence, wisdom’s river flows deeply,
Where serenity and storm in ballet, freely.
A nurturer, she blooms, a perennial flower,
Gifting fragrances of kindness in her bower.
She walks the earth with a gentle power,
In each stride, a sonnet written by the hour.
Her laughter, a melody strung on heartstrings,
A symphony that to the soul sweetly clings.
In sorrow, she’s a willow, yet hope she brings,
Within, a solace that from her courage springs.
She is the weaver of dreams, a clandestine artist,
Painting life in hues of love, an optimistic alchemist.
Her spirit dances like flames, ever so free,
Yet grounded, like roots of an ancient tree.
Her nature, a paradox, complex and bright,
With the softness of dawn and the mystery of night.
A muse to the poet, an enigma to the sage,
A book to be cherished, on every single page.