Her Portrait....

Bathed in the soft glow of life's vibrant palette,
She stands, a living canvas where stories settle.
Her portrait unfolds, an intricately woven tale,
A tapestry of moments where emotions set sail.
With each breath, a brushstroke of time's gentle art,
In the gallery of existence, she's a masterpiece's start.

Upon her brow, a diadem of thoughts untold,
A garden of dreams, where fantasies unfold.
A furrowed brow, the marker of wisdom's reign,
Etched by the years, a story to regain.
Lines that map the journey of a soul,
In the Book of time, an enchanting scroll.

Her hands, an ode to labour and to grace,
The echo of time, eternally trace.
Fingers that weave tales in the quiet air,
A symphony of touch, beyond compare.
For every line, a chapter in life's sweet song,
A melody that plays, enduring and strong.

The tapestry of her life, a portrait complete,
Woven with threads of joy and tears so sweet.
In the frame of time, she's a masterpiece,
A composition of love that will never cease.
Her portrait, a reflection of the heart's true art,
A testament to the Romanticist's eternal heart.

And as the sun dips below the horizon's edge,
Casting a golden glow upon life's final page.
Her portrait, a beacon in the gathering dark,
A lighthouse of love, an eternal spark.
For in each stroke of time's relentless hand,
Her essence lingers, a whisper in the sand.

The brushstrokes of time may weather and fray,
Yet, her essence endures, forever to stay.
For in the quiet echoes of the passing years,
Her laughter still resonates, calming fears.
As the last stanza of Life gently departs,
Her portrait remains, etched in immortal hearts.

In the gallery of existence, where moments reside,
Her image stands tall, a luminous guide.
A masterpiece painted with hues of emotion,
A testament to love's unwavering devotion.
Though the frame's fragile, the colours won't fade,
Her portrait transcends, in memories carefully laid.

And as the curtain falls on this poetic tale,
Her presence lingers, a soft, comforting gale.
For in every sunrise and each twilight's gleam,
Her spirit dances, a timeless, eternal dream.
The Romanticist's pen lays down its art,
Yet, her portrait lives on, engraved in every heart.