My lighthouse in the storm

In a house where light spills gently through lace curtains,

and time seems to move in the soft rhythm of a bygone era,

there was you, a vessel of boundless grace,

a quiet revolution in the everyday.

You were a hearth in the chill of dawn,

tending the embers of love with hands as delicate

as an old-fashioned quilt, stitched with threads

of a wisdom older than the tales of yore.

Your presence, a tapestry woven with threads

of patience and silent giving, spread warmth like

the timeless sun that watches over the fields,

its golden rays a promise of endless harvest.

You worked in the shadows of our lives,

like the seamstress who labors away,

creating the garments of our days,

each stitch a prayer, each seam a lesson.

From you, I learned the art of silent supplication,

a quiet whisper to the heavens, a subtle arc of devotion,

like the nightingale's song in the still of twilight,

a melody carried on the winds of the ancient world.

Your gifts were more than mere presence;

they were companions of the soul, cousins

who walked beside me as brothers and sisters,

a lineage of hearts entwined like the roots

of a venerable tree whose shade shelters all.

When I was shattered, you were the mosaic artist,

gently piecing together the fragments of my spirit,

your embrace a sanctuary from the storm,

your ear a vessel that held my every cry.

In the chambers of your kindness, I found a compass,

a moral north star, steady and unerring,

guiding me through the labyrinth of the world,

your wisdom a lighthouse on my uncertain sea.

You, who dwell in the sacred quiet of selfless giving,

deserve blessings as vast as the star-sprinkled sky,

a life etched in the annals of honor,

a place where even God might pause to listen.

Your legacy, is spoken n the whispers

of every prayer, in the echoes of laughter shared,

a testament to the boundless spirit you pour forth,

a timeless gift that holds the essence of all that is eternal.