No page has closed on what she left behind,
Though screens have dimmed and decades turned their face.
A flame persists where memory is kind,
Unruled by time, not claimed by earth or place.

She walked through frames not seeking to be crowned,
But shaped the myth by merely standing still.
They framed her smile; the world made it profound—
An accident of stardom and of will.

Not carved in bronze nor taught in ordered schools,
Yet borne in hearts that needed her to stay.
She broke their rules, then made them write new rules,
And lent the silent room a thing to say.

She won’t turn ninety-nine today. The world looks on,
Still tracing light from someone long since gone.