In the nave where stained light becomes the song,  four pawns gather beneath the chapel’s gaze:
Innocence: dawn held in her hands
Life: full and restless as spring
Forgiveness: bearing no weapon but mercy
Growth: rooted deep beneath the stones

They breathe together, certain of conquest,
small crowns imagined in their humble hands
four little figures crossing the checkered world
to unseat the Queen

How foolish they are

For she is not merely seated upon a throne,
She is the hush before the choir begins, the carved rose hidden high in the cathedral, the patient radiance spilling through stained glass

Her resilience is older than ruin; Her beauty does not beg to be witnessed; it simply is

like ivy reclaiming a forgotten wall, like a candle refusing the dark until the dark itself becomes holy
Her intelligence moves quietly, not as thunder demanding the sky, but as roots deepening day by day
Oh! Her heart… her precious, unguarded heart holds even those who would challenge her without becoming less whole

The four pawns do not understand:
Innocence was born from her tenderness
Life was taught to breathe by her courage
Forgiveness learned its gentleness within the chambers of her soul
Growth rises only because she remains

So let them approach, let them dream of crowns, of victories, of a Queen brought low
She will meet them not with anger, but with the serene knowledge of creation recognizing itself: for you see, some souls are not made to be dethroned they are made to endure, to love

She is the very reason for which poets are born and even at my best, my words, my heart, fails before such perfection

the poet bends reverently over the page and writes her name as though it were a prayer

thank you for the honor to write about you,