10 - Her agent

I can barely behold your beacon light, 
Undeserving, unknowing, your features designed
By a craftsman with skill, luck, perfect sight. 
You, never before had anyone managed to define.

Are the perfect frames, like Heaven’s landscape,
Evidence for a designer? I think not-
No God could ever settle for less if this muscat grape
could make a perfect wine from a harvest of rot. 

You must, then, be nature’s very statement. 
In a golden landscape of diamond vines, you are her agent.