To my mother, endearingly:

 Warmth, a temperature with gravity;A central tenant to your being.Sparks bloom against the cold steel of a world in winterTo catch slumbering acres up in a defiant wildfire.Knowing no objective but persistence;To burn is to light the dark clearly.Shadows tremble at your mere flickering.The wind has whipped your sudden combustion to the heights once unscathed.The rain has tended your borders and carved your shape.Earth is merely scarred,And flame has caught our hearts. -Fal