Her hair, a sunset woven in flame and gold,
A river of ember that dances in the light;
Each strand a secret story, softly told,
A embered halo in the hush of night.
Her presence seems to hush the crowded room,
Like wildfire blooming into a quiet dawn;
In her gaze, a dawn-lit orchard after gloom,
Where every note of hope is gently drawn.
Her laughter is a bellsong in spring rain,
A melody that climbs the warm arterial sun;
With every smile, the world forgets its pain,
And all the weary hours yield to one.
Red petals of the heart, in crimson bloom,
She walks, and spring remembers how to breathe;
Her breath, a warm, unspoken whispered tomb,
Guarding love’s bright flame from withering beneath.
Her hands hold constellations softly pressed,
In every touch, a universe finds its place;
Her fingers trace the maps upon my chest,
And I am found again in her fearless grace.
If love is rain, she is the fiercest storm,
A wild, tender force that makes me anew;
In her, the ordinary becomes the warm
And endless, star-lit sky of all that’s true.
So here I offer a quiet, steadfast vow:
To cherish her flame when the world grows cold;
To guard, like ember-precious, sacred now,
The beautiful red-haired story we’ll retold.