A Sonnet for Taylor

The clouds that drift across the face of heaven
Obscure the depths of space that lie beyond.
There suns spring forth as God supplies the leaven
To raise, ignite their fire without a wand.

The dust of such swirls round like autumn leaves
Caught up by winds whose source remains unseen.
Efforts that fools might think, midst waves and weaves,
Create but naught, save pleasure for some fiend.

For you, my friend, are myst'ry made and yet,
The self-same stuff of stars creates your soul.
It shines within, transcends when you will let
That spark consume the fears that dim your role.

So love barefaced, ne'er from a sense of duty
T'will serve you well, give purpose to your beauty.