Ars longa, amata

I

have you seen her? when it snows?
when she drags her feet and giggles on the
lonely road
and holds her new book tightly pressed to her chest
so no snowflake can wet her pages;
there's a child in her innocence.
have you seen her?
i am convinced her heart is silk
disguised as flesh.
she who does not scavenge for minerals
but instead picks up rocks on the road;
she with smiles that hide a childish hope;
she who looks like thirsty bumblebees finding nectar — her, i love.
how beautiful is she whose mind stays on the small and humble.