In the stillness of her quiet bed,
where time dissolves into peace,
an old woman, frail and lying still,
holds gently in her hands
a doll her daughter named Hope.
With the marks of time engraved upon her face,
she holds this simple gift—a token of love,
a treasured memory from her daughter dear,
whom she named, in fervent faith, Hope.
Each stitch, sewn with tender care,
paints upon her face a touch of innocence,
a sweetness that reflects her fragility,
binding the doll and the old woman as one.
Amid slow breaths and lingering silences,
faith takes shape upon her quiet face,
the twilight turns into an endless promise,
where eternity and fading memories intertwine.
In her lap rests the doll Hope,
a silent witness to forgotten memories,
a faithful companion in the ebb and flow of forgetfulness,
carrying in its seams the fragility of a soul
that with faith awaits the embrace of the eternal God.