for as many days as I had known, there were magnetic eyes
that noticed every surface of this earth,
and there was tenderness, with generous reserve,
a painting let us think, her voice was warm like that,
her voice brought heaven to its hush,
no matter where I was, the beam of light was there
so tied that I could feel a center care for me and watch
a silver sought, a feeling that pronounced
with kindness, and with reverence each tone,
as perfectly as any flower brought to life
as I was brought to life and she as parallel
would constantly forgive while understanding,
she would be a perfect thought.
sheila e. murphy
3 6 07
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