Mirror to My Soul by Heather Mirassou

Her hair, platinum dawn,
a crown of winter brightness
that caught the sun in
flowing threads and
wove it into wisdom.

Her face, porcelain serenity,
lined not with age,
but with soft etchings of
laughter, prayer and unbroken grace,

Her hands, strong as river stones,
shaped by years of lifting children,
steadying hearts,
and tending the fragile work
of land and of love.

She taught the young to 
wonder,
and the grown, to hope.

Her voice, an open door,
her patience, a lantern
that swings and sways.

Mother, grandmother,
keeper of stories,
she stitched generations
together.
Her memories spread wide across
many lives.

A friend, who listened 
as though each story
were sacred.

A faithful Christian whose
faith glowed like candlelight
to be shared to all that would listen.

She was a treasure - 
an emerald in a deep forest
brilliance born of pleasure,
and courage shaped by time.

Bold and unyielding,
a woman carried by devotion,
lit by fierce beauty
of a heart that kept giving.

Now she walks in a 
gentler world,
yet her footsteps echo here -
in our laughter,
in our courage,
in everything she taught us
in her memory.

Matriarch,
memory-bearer.
Light that does not dim.
We carry her forward.