She stood quite still, near the corner of the room,
Without a word, but anticipating a gentle sigh, one
Of so many that the past year had brought round.|
Accustomed to its resigned serenity
No words were necessary, her creativity
A perfection of color we could not name
Radiated from her presence, releasing
The crayola spectrum in a sweet range of melons.
Sherbet or sorbet dance on her sleeve
Raising the message of delight,
While from head to toe
All we want to do
Is watch her glow.