The Picture

A picture hangs upon the wall,
It reaches from above.
T'is someone very dear to me,
And some one that I love.

She looks at me with eloquence,
She has a certain aire.
So much that I can look the more,
For moments...I can stare.

I read the lines upon her face,
There's not a sign of vile.
The curvature of her upper-lip,
Is shaped into a smile.

Her eyes are cast in mirrored-pools,
Lashed heavy at the side.
I knew she was a mighty source,
Of all beauty amplified.

Her hair is tumbled...long in length,
With light and darkened streaks.
And as I stand...and watch and wait,
It seems to me...she speaks.

E.P. 1908 - 1989