She greets the dawn with her cold eyes
Eyes chiseled by ancient architects
Ever so slightly cracked
Forever gazing upon the changing seasons
And the wilting of sanguine roses.

Her still hands forever out stretched
Reaching for something long forgotten
Perhaps a lost love
The gentle rain
Or the birds of spring.

Her fading smile
Forever bringing happiness
To photographs
And paintings lost to time.

Her delicate feet
Fixed upon the dark marble
Walking to imaginary lands.

Dusk comes . . .
She laughs in her still serenity
As the mosses
The darkness
And the chills of the northern winds
Envelop her once more.

And in silence
She drifts in a deep slumber
Awaiting a new dawn
A new day . . .