A Sonnet for GraceUpon this page, a story doth unfold,
Of Grace, whose quiet strength is fierce and bold.
With flute in hand, she breathes a wistful tune,
Like Carrickfergus drifting past the moon.
Where felix illa speaks through timeless halls,
She heeds the echoes of the ages' thrall.
In swift-paced reels, where ancient spirits rise,
Her graceful steps ascend to storied skies.
She walks with Lear and weeps upon the moor,
Yet on the ice, her fire and focus soar.
Through word and deed, her voice takes root and grows
A grace that neither time nor tempest knows.
The world awaits the truths her heart shall bear;
Her name—a constant star—guides everywhere.
_{This web domain is a gift for your 16th birthday, Grace—
a stage of your own, to fill with your voice, your brilliance.
With all my love, Godmommy}

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