The ivy leans, the stones take breath,
They rise above their weight of death.
For in your glow they’re born anew,
And crowned by everything you do.

The roses hush, the moonlight sways,
It frames your form in silver haze.
The night delays, the stars retreat,
To worship quietly at your feet.

The wall recalls forgotten years,
Yet all is soothed when you appear.
Its cracks grow soft, its burden mild,
As if remade by beauty’s child.