Her tree outside my window,
Breaks the sky into tiny pieces,
An ancient mosaic,
From another time.
I wish I could paint as she does,
Though my palette is never as vivid,
My pictures are always perfect-
Not realistic or beautiful.
And sometimes, when the sun shines through
I see her stained-glass portrait,
On my bedroom wall-
She is beautiful,
Not plastic or blonde,
Just a woman.