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In her gentle hands, I was held,
From her loving chambers, I came forth to dwell.
A woman, yet an ocean vast,
Filled with precious treasures that forever will last.

Vast and virtuous, she stands apart,
One of a kind, a loving heart.
She broods over her own with care,
Nurturing and guiding with a love beyond compare.

She provides, she supplies, and she loves unconditionally,
A blessing from God, a treasure to me.
Unspoken are the sacrifices she's made,
A true personality, in every way.

My guiding light, my shining star,
Forever in my heart, near and far.
She is the figure,
The personality I revere.
A poem to the woman of my life, My Mummy.
Appointment planned, agreed upon,
In perfect harmony, our schedules had won.
The appointed day arrived, I sat and waited,
Glancing at the clock, my patience created.

Time ticked on, the scheduled hour slipped away,
I grew annoyed, my frustration here to stay.
Just when I thought the wait would never cease,
You strolled in, with a smile, and a gentle breeze.

"Elegantly late," you said with a grin,
I raised an eyebrow, my skepticism within.
Is lateness elegance, or just a lack of care?
I pondered this, as you stood there.
Punctuality is beautiful
Lateness is irritating
I will not hold my peace.
He came,
He died,
He rose,
He reigns—our Savior eternal.

My voice will not falter.
I speak with bold authority,
For He is my Commander,
And I follow His call.

My life is His,
And in Him, I live.
He is my one true love,
The eternal Lover of my soul.
JESUS CHRIST
In this evergreen land,  
Only two seasons reign—  
Sunny or cold,  
Wet or dry.  

The sun’s golden rays,  
Rising and setting with grace,  
An awe-striking sight—  
Speechless is the heart that beholds it.  

I love my seasons,  
Breathtaking, timeless.  

Yet, my heart dreams of more—  
The dance of snow in Winter,  
The splendor of Fall’s golden hues,  
Autumn’s crisp embrace,  
And Summer, a familiar friend.  

I yearn to witness them all,  
To paint their beauty upon my soul,  
To live the fullness of their story.
A dream to witness the four seasons
I laugh to myself—
I am learning.
I speak the French:

Bonjour, Bonsoir,
Je m'appelle...
It sounds so funny,
Yet I try.

Well,
C'est la pratique qui fait la perfection,
And so, I keep going.
My mind reels back to that moment
When fear's icy grip took hold
A sudden trembling seized my frame
My whole being testified to the panic's claim

I grasped the microphone, a disaster unfolding
My words, a jumbled mess, or so it seemed
Was I speaking or mumbling? I couldn't tell
My mind, a maze of self-doubt, a trickster's spell

In that intense moment, I wished to be
Glued to my seat, silent and free
No care to speak, no need to face
The fear that gripped me, a suffocating space
Fear of public speaking
All is busy,  
Tangled in their own rush,  
Wrapped in the importance of their world,  
A world that pulls them far from me.

I long to pour out,  
To speak my heart,  
But not in idle chatter,  
Not in words that fall flat.

Yet, they are all choked—  
Choked with the weight of their headaches,  
Their heartaches,  
Lost in their own silent battles.

So here, I remain—  
Turning inward,  
Opening my heart in prayer,  
Or letting my pen bleed truth,  
In the quiet spaces where I am free.
My life as an introvert
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