She was born a Poet

In an old terrace house, nestled so snug,

A poet was born, with a heart like a hug.

From the moment she breathed the soft morning air,

Words danced in her soul, weaving tales rare.

With pen and with paper, her companions true,

She scribbled her dreams, as her spirit grew.

Each line was a melody, each verse a song,

In the world of pure poetry, she belonged.

Her cradle was cradled by whispers in rhyme,

As lullabies soothed her in poetic rhyme

She smiled as she slumbered, wrapped in a dream,

Where stanzas flowed gently like a silvery stream.

A true influencer of words she became,

Her verses a beacon, her legacy's flame.

For in every line, a piece of her heart,

A poet who crafted her life into art.

So here's to the poet, born with a glee,

In an old terrace house, her spirit so free.

With pen and with paper, her dreams took their flight,

A beacon of poetry, a pure guiding light.