Unnamed Girl
With light through dusty air and patterned glass
alive in paint and cold museum veins
to ponder on still Sundays come to pass
Beyond the mass of portraits to detain
a fragile face, composed alive with breath
stops my steps imprinting to retain
I'll see her face until I face my death
a simple girl with flowers in her hair
braided loosely, languid in it's length
touching gossamer on her shoulder's bare
in quiet contemplation we intrude
with silent steps to ponder unaware
her grace all company will long exclude
and so the artist penned her with no name
for it was neither fitting to include
her privacy to render just the same
We shall absolve her soul in audience
as loyal as her golden, gilded frame.
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