In morning’s gentle golden hour,
When shadows dance and darkness flees,
She moves with grace, a blooming flower,
Her laughter floating on the breeze.
Her eyes hold starlight’s tender gleam,
Deep pools where kindness makes its home,
Where wisdom flows like silver stream
Through depths where gentle spirits roam.
The curve of shoulder, arch of neck,
Soft canvas kissed by heaven’s art,
Yet more than beauty’s gentle beck—
The radiant goodness of her heart.
She speaks in whispers, fierce and low,
Her voice like honey, warm and sweet,
Compassion in her movements flow,
Making every moment complete.
Her hands that heal, that comfort, care,
That trace the world with loving touch,
Her smile that banishes despair—
A soul that gives so very much.
In quiet moments, skin like silk
Illuminated by the moon,
Her spirit pure as morning milk,
My heart beats to her sacred tune.
She is the dawn, she is the night,
Beauty embodied, love made real,
My compass, anchor, guiding light—
The tender strength that makes me feel.
Forever captured by her grace,
Both passionate fire and gentle peace,
In her I’ve found my resting place,
Where wonder and devotion cease.