The roses hush, the winds grow still,
They bow before your gentle will.
Each shadow fades, each silence sings,
Of beauty soft on twilight’s wings.

The stones once grey are touched by flame,
They shine anew to bear your name.
Though carved by time, they now confess,
They live because of tenderness.

The roses hush, the moonlight glows,
It wraps you where the ivy grows.
Yet even stars dissolve in shame,
Beside the spark that speaks your name.