She

I see her standing there,
extremely still.
In her eyes there’s a blank stare,
one that could give you a chill.

She sets up her paint,
with slow precision.
And even if she is faint,
she won’t change her decision.

Looking at her display,
her eyes filled with concentration,
you could never make her sway,
even if you shouted salutations.

Her eyes on the scenery,
are filled with a far away look.
They gleam to see such greenery,
growing by the brook.

And while she’s been paintin’,
Beauty surrounds her everywhere.
She seems to blend in,
with her beautiful, long, blond hair.

You would never have guessed,
of what she has painted.
Only if she confessed,
would you then be aquainted.

Walking up behind her,
I see just shades of gray.
I’m suprised to discover,
that she paints not of the display.

What she’s painting still,
is what she’s been feeling.
Her loneliness contrasted with tranquil,
is shocking as well as saddening.

The mystery of it all,
is how she can appear to be,
so content with an invisible wall,
surrounding her but excluding me.