With Her Hand in Mine

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 The world saw shadows, whispers took their flight,

Said she was too bright, too wild for their sight.

They measured her soul by a narrow design,

Feared the strength of a truth they could never define.


But I saw a fire, a brave, burning grace,

A storm made of courage, light carved in her face.

Where others saw chaos, I saw standing tall,

A heart that knew honor, a will that won’t fall.


Her truth was a beacon, honest and bold,

Not shaped for approval, not bought or sold.

A poem  in sincerity, written in flame,

Unashamed of its power, unbowed by their blame.


And oh, her respect, a promise she keeps,

A vow in her waking, a law in her sleep.

She stood proud and steady when duty would call,

Not shrinking from weight, but embracing it all.


Let the doubters keep murmuring, casting their shade,

Let them clutch at their fears, let their rumors be made.

My belief in her beauty will never grow thin,

It deepens with knowing, it strengthens within.


For in her I see what is worthy and real,

Not the mask of perfection, but truth you can feel.

A spirit unbroken, a soul that can stand,

Both gentle in touch and iron in hand.


The whispers mean nothing, the doubts are just air,

They fade in the warmth of a love laid bare.

My love is a fortress, steadfast and true,

Built not from words, but from all that we do.


With her hand in mine, a long road begins,

Not stolen by chance, but chosen within.

She’s the start of it all, my compass, my flame,

Where my new world rises, and nothing’s the same.



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