Her voice is petalled purest pink,

It gives her hearers thoughts to drink,

It binds the wounds of tattered hearts

With woman’s ways and woman’s arts.

Her voice names Truth and calls it out

When others’ souls begin to doubt;

And tender as a flower’s face,

Her voice breathes hope, and light, and grace.

Her voice soars strong to right a wrong,

Yet gentles in a crooning song;

Her voice swells soft at sunset’s spread,

To tuck her tousled babes in bed.