human
Of gentle seeming was her form And the soft beaming of her radiant eye Was sunlight to the beauty of her face. Peace, sacred peace, was written on her brow And flowed in the low music of her voice Which came unto the list'ner like the tones of soothing Autumn winds. Her hands were full of consolations which she scattered free to all--the poor, the sick, the sorrowful.
gpt
Your mother's, my daughter, your mother's.