In the grand hall of the mind, where ideas take birth, Resides a force, unbowed by time, a gift of priceless worth. The maker of melodies, the architect of dreams, In the tapestry of existence, the Creative Genius teems. Under a vast canvas of thoughts, where constellations lie, The Genius, with her artist’s brush, paints the morning sky. In shadows and in light alike, a spectrum is revealed, A dance of colours bright and bold, in every heart concealed. In the hushed whispers of the night, 'neath the moon's pale glow, The Genius weaves stories rich, in gentle ebb and flow. In the silent chambers of the soul, in the labyrinth of the mind, She sculpts the visions grand and bold, that only She can find. She sings in the voice of the wind, through the ancient forest's rustle, She scrawls the poem of existence, in every mountain's bustle. The sculptor of realities, the author of fate's book, In every corner of the world, her presence is mistook. No chisel, nor brush, nor quill doth she keep, Yet in her grand symphony, both the joyous and the weep. Invisible yet omnipresent, silent yet profound, In every thought, every heart, her resonances are found. This Genius, she does not claim, to kingdoms or to throne, Yet, to her belongs the world, in a manner solely her own. Through the eyes of those who see, through the heart that feels, She brings forth life's splendid tapestry, on the loom of ideas she reels. A whisperer of the silent words, a dancer in the mind, The Creative Genius leaves her touch, for those who seek to find. For she is the fire, the spark, the artist's loving grace, An unfettered spirit sailing forth, through time and through space. Oh, to gaze upon the world, through her prism, what a boon, Where every moment hums with life, from dawn to afternoon. Unseen, unfelt, unheard perhaps, by eyes that fail to see, Yet in every breath, every beat, lives the Creative Genius, free.