SHE PAINTS

she-paints-pic

She paints, and when she paints

I love her more.

She paints her face so beautifully

That art critics who enter by the back door

Know all at once what painting and poetry is for.

They sadly recognize that when you say

“I love you” it could be on the very day

You leave, because you said it only to make someone glad,

And when the words fled to them, they made you sad.

We think nothing, but only say what we think we ought to say

Until the red shadows come and we vanish in the blue day.

But now she presents herself at the front of the hall,

And even you look at her, and even you will fall

On your knees and worship her. And that is all.

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