I cannot copy the finest strokes of your artists loving hand,
I may not see the minute detail of what maybe his best portrayal,
I may not even understand that the pastel colours matched his moods.
And
Even without fine strokes, minute detail and pastel colours,
His expression remains vivid, captured on a canvas long since yellowing.
But I saw your face in the crowd,
High above the rest.
I saw your loneliness chased away,
By conversation.
I saw your smile, just as the artist painted it,
And I glimpsed your face in the crowd.
I heard you steal a walk through the valley
Of fine strokes, minute detail and pastel colours.
I heard you steal a walk through the valley,
Away from the crowd, away from my eyes.
I cannot follow you lest you fade forever,
I cannot steal a walk through the valley.
But I did see your face in the crowd.