Witness to the moment
In the presence of this smile
I stop to reflect and admire
At it's cunning look and guile

I heard so many stories
And now I stand and gaze upon
The glory of a bygone age
And all that has gone before

They taught me of the brush strokes
They taught me of the genius
That birthed the lady
That gave her life
And blessed us with such an enigmatic smile.

Her pose is staunch a little
Yet relaxed and so at ease
I wonder who this woman was
That she toys with us, the tease

The softness of her complexion
Yet somehow so rigid too
A woman dressed in refinery
And somehow, also so butch

I love the artists brush strokes
Because that's what they taught to me
And I love the background also
Of the rivers and the trees

They taught me of the brush strokes
They taught me of the history
Of the mystery
Of the lady
That was chosen to live for eternity

But I see her looking at me
And I will return the stare
Is she really smiling?
No actually, who cares?

Suddenly, I've fallen
And the woman speaks to me
I see such sadness in her eyes
Of lost, forgotten dreams.

Her hair, so flat and pretty
Yet the ends fizzle into curls
And is that a veil upon her
Shielding her from the world?

Her bosom closed and covered
Such detail in the cloth
Covering something so sacred
Or maybe to hide the flaws?

And the hands, refined, so delicate
Look so nervous in my eye
As if she doesn't want to be there
As if this lady is still shy

I stand back, and take a breath,
I see a woman and her face
With sadness and such lost beauty
And such sorrow to embrace

I swear I think she's crying
The smile I see so weak
I wish that I could hold her
Instead of study the technique

They taught me of the brush strokes
They taught me of the art
But they never taught me
To look beyond...


I look again
And she seems so alive.
I've seen a woman in canvas
And now, I think I truly see her smile...