Her whispy straw-like hair
Strange green eyes that never rest
A smile no artist could ever paint
A frown to suicide a saint

Her voice fresh water that she never drinks
Her measured distance covers what she thinks
Laughter so human it inspires God
And sends Him back to work
Whilst she is unemployed

She's a taker; She's a mover; she's a doer
And what she gives makes charity cry
Her pride is rarely spoken loud
She's not comfortable in a crowd
But she drinks in others
As they drink in her;
She is blind where they don't care.

Her whispy straw-like hair transcends despair
Like only a Russian knows how;
Balanced compassion with a violent passion
But what light in those still hoping eyes