She could paint a picture
So beautiful it would make you cry
Even now I wonder why
It was so easy to leave her
Alone
In the blooming garden
She sat behind an easel sketching a rose
Pulling in my book I struck an elegant pose
And hoped she'd glance my way
Instead she floated away
Off into a shady tree
For a moment I sat quietly
Still
Then I too grew and let the artist be
As I swam through the crowd
I felt her fly free
As she let a delicate blade fall across her
Wrists