A poem about: I want to write a poem about my stepmom…

I want to write a poem about my stepmom who passed away this week. She came into my life when I was only 12 years old, a bitter brat who didn’t like the idea of her dad being with another woman. But as time went on and the year passed, she became one of the greatest blessings in my life. Myself along with my four sisters were treated with nothing but respect and motherly love from her. As well as our kids. She also had a son of her own when she met my dad. Before she passed, she had a total of 29. When she passed, she had a total of 29 grandkids and 18 great grandkids who she adored and talked about all the time. She enjoyed reading, bingo, and flowers. Her and my dad were sweethearts to each other and the love they had was undeniable. They were married for 33 years. She had a love for Jesus and if she was unable to attend church in the last few years, she watched it on TV. She moved to the country with my dad, although she had always lived in town. They raise cows chickens, and one time a potbelly pig. My mom and her got along very well even attending holidays at each other‘s home so we could all be together. To say I am grateful and also thankful for her as an understatement

In tender years, when paths first crossed,
I, a wilted rose with thorned disdain,
Met a soul patient, steadfast and soft,
Who turned grumbles to whispers, and whispers to gain.

A heart that loved beyond her own,
Where family blossomed like wildflowers bright,
Nurtured with grace, and gentle tone,
She bathed our world in motherly light.

In country fields she found new breath,
Where cows and chickens roam and play;
Her laughter lingered after her death,
As echoes across the sunlit hay.

Cards shuffled, flowers grown anew,
And stories of Jesus' eternal embrace,
From city hustle to rural view,
She cherished each moment, each blessed space.

Thirty-three years of love's sweet art,
You shared with Dad, soul's entwine,
Undeniable bonds, a shared heart,
A love as warm as vintage wine.

Oh stepmother, guide, and friend,
With open arms, our lives you wove,
Now at a journey's gentle end,
We’re grateful for your endless love.

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In tender years, when paths first crossed, I, a wilted rose with thorned disdain, Met a soul patient, steadfast and soft, Who turned grumbles to whispers, and whispers to gain. A heart that loved beyond her own, Where family blossomed like wildflowers bright, Nurtured with grace, and gentle tone, She bathed our world in motherly light. In country fields she found new breath, Where cows and chickens roam and play; Her laughter lingered after her death, As echoes across the sunlit hay. Cards shuffled, flowers grown anew, And stories of Jesus' eternal embrace, From city hustle to rural view, She cherished each moment, each blessed space. Thirty-three years of love's sweet art, You shared with Dad, soul's entwine, Undeniable bonds, a shared heart, A love as warm as vintage wine. Oh stepmother, guide, and friend, With open arms, our lives you wove, Now at a journey's gentle end, We’re grateful for your endless love.