Upon the road, both worn and long,
A healer walks, where hearts belong.
With hands outstretched and eyes that see,
She tends to wounds, both deep and free.
Her journey never ends, it weaves,
Through whispered prayers and quiet grieves.
Each step she takes, a gentle stride,
As souls, she mends, with love as guide.
The path is tangled, veiled in mist,
A winding way no heart can resist.
For healing’s not a fixed, quick cure—
It’s patience born, both soft and pure.
She listens to the silent cries,
The unspoken truths that darken skies.
With steady breath and open heart,
She holds the broken, makes them start.
The burden heavy, yet she bears
The weight of others’ unspoken prayers.
Her soul’s a lantern, ever bright,
A beacon in the endless night.
Each day she learns, each day she grows,
With every tear, her wisdom flows.
The healer knows, though wounds may last,
Love’s power is both vast and vast.
For in her hands, and in her eyes,
The path to healing never dies.
She walks, with grace, through all the pain—
The endless path that calls again.
Thank-you for reading.
Much Love and Light,
Brenda Marie
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