In Cyrene's streets, old Paloma roams,
Feeding bread to pigeons, kind and free.
In her gentle heart, compassion blooms,
A friend to birds, beneath the fountained tree.

With silver hair and eyes like faded blue,
She whispers tales of days long gone by,
In her weathered hands, crumbs scattered anew,
Underneath the vast and open sky.

Paloma's steps echo through the winding lanes,
As pigeons flock around her with delight.
Her spirit, untouched by earthly chains,
Brings solace to the creatures in her sight.

So let us honor Paloma's tender ways,
And grace her ears with grateful praise.

Penned by my hand on the 20th of Valnuary, in the year 948 AF.