Beyond the Flame — A sonnet

Morning hums low across the northern plain,
And in that quiet, I think of your grace.
Your voice is like the hush before the rain
A calm that cools the heat of the midday sun.

You’re like shea trees that bless the open plain,
Soft in their shade, yet firm as they become.
Barefoot in thought, yet bold in all you do,
You carry joy the way the North holds sky. 

Not loud – but deep, like truths the elders knew,
A quiet fire that even storms can’t dry.
You shine without intent or need to show,
Your laughter smooth as shea butter on skin.

I ask for nothing – only space to see
The wonder that quietly shines through you.