She never had big enough eyes,
That's what I thought looking in the mirror,
And they were blue, so in photos
Always looked faded.
They were taken from my father,
The colour of speedwell in the meadows,
My mother's were hazel ,nearly brown.
Like my brothers.
Eyes are the entry to the soul it is said.
Over the years I came to like them.
Quiet eyes that lay on the surface of a canvas,
A painting created by a friend,
Who saw the beauty in them.

Thank you Ian for my  painting .
Love Mary **