I knew a girl named Grace
She lived inside the city
She couldn’t talk
She could say more
With her eyes
Than most of us
Say within a lifetime
Of words
Her laugh could make flowers grow
And was as spontaneous
As lightning

She preferred out
To in
Over land
Always rain

She was a painter
An artist
And with her colours
And a touch
Of magic
Her works
Were like windows
Of expression

She always painted barefoot
colour splashed
From elbow to heel
She played piano better than anyone else I knew
Even though her left side
Was always numb
From an accident when she was young

I remember she loved children
She never forgot a birthday
With a gentle pat and a kiss
On the forehead
She always had something
For them

People came from miles around
To buy her magic
These windows of expression
But still
They asked for words…


3 thoughts on “Grace

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