If she were lying in warm grass
An april breeze among her hair
Her laugh would glow like fresh-spun brass
A sheaf of gold beneath blue air
Or slipping through a sliding sea
June’s waves drawn back for her return
Above, below in symmetry
And eyes, far off, that only yearn
Or riding high with friends and fields
To tempt sun’s indignation
Her dance’s thread in time reveals
September’s exultation
If only – but she is far away
Mute and thin, silhouetted by pain
December chills her face to grey
And who can say that spring will come again?
Kj23may09
How different this – “A face told differently” – feels! with its rhythm and rhyme. Does it recall a particular person for you? It certainly applies more generally to the human condition and as such speaks to many more personally.