Loss

On my bedroom wall hangs a picture,
framed by ancient flowers;
with death-still heart and cold-steel heart,
I looked--through empty hours.
The face is soft and gentle;
the hair, alive and bright.
The neck is long and slender
with skin still clear and tight.
But, no wasted youthful fancy
could so mesmorizing be.
It is the eyes that hold
the love and trust---
that yesterday was me.

Author: Lady Lou