The Birth of Inspiration
Call the Angels down if you dare.
It is a time of exultant celebration.
For among us is a soul without compare.
Hearts revel in sheer elation.
She is light and the keeper of dreams.
A muse of unequalled grace.
There is perfection it seems,
When you look upon her face.
She grants to us on this day,
Kismet that one can see.
Gaze deep into where charity lay.
In her eyes wondrous eternity.
Cry to the clouds her name.
A true gift of love can never be,
Lessened by the cursed mundane.
Bask in the glorious reverie.
Upon her creation the Seraph wept,
For the brilliance was too much to bare.
With them though the memory kept,
Of being witness to beauty so rare.
Trumpets sound the coming time,
Awash in sunlight, a smile so coy.
She is the song; she is the rhyme.
We all rejoice in the birth of Joy.
-For Danette
on her birthday