THE PORTRAIT

As time marches onward relentless and bold
I gaze at the past and the wonder it holds -
A portrait of beauty; a face that I know
Who died with the artist two centuries ago.

Who is this young maiden, her hair flowing down
Who looks at me softly with eyes warm and brown?
She stays ever young with the passing of years
But as I grow older her eyes fill with tears.

She is all I see
She is history
Though she is but canvas and paint
She'll become flesh and blood once for me.

I know it's not easy to think as I do
That time's an illusion and nothing is new.
The girl's face is famous; the artist has gone -
And both are now buried and both are anon.

As time marches onward relentless and bold
She'll come back to life and her hand I will hold
I realize now that her heart I will gain
For I was the artist, and shall be again.

© Elwood Herring 1980