The paragon is an illusion,
Yet somehow it stands,
It's as pieces fusion,
Oddity of lands.

How are you so perfect?
Your arrival landed direct.
Straight onto my heart,
Flawless life's art.

Infinite are my appraisals,
Fortunate grateful parallels,
Where I can land to rest,
To lighten up and jest.

Souls go through so much,
The heart yearns a bunch,
Limitless are the desires,
For engulfing are fires.

Dust is the winds spell,
Gust pushes time to tell,
As the winds form us,
From shine to our rust.

Perfection I ponder wistful,
To be chosen is blissful,
Well constructed and intact,
Goes far in a fateful pact.

Measured perfect numbers,
Sustains what is encumbered,
If it's right then no worry,
Correctly proven the story.

No need to change at all,
The epitome is there tall,
She towers so grand,
Admiration! Here's a hand.