I paint her with words,
Rather than brushes
My fingers will not easily hold.
My eyes can’t see the colors clear,
But the description in my memory
Takes me back to her youth. 
A fine lined porcelain face,
With ruby lips and azure eyes,
That danced when the devil took her due. 
How can any oils or color capture the love
Of her? Or any brushstroke let flow 
Her kind and gentle ways?
I paint her with words,
For words are all I have that flow
Upon the canvas of the mind.