Her eyes were the green of the turbulent sea:
I looked into them, and was lost.
Her lashes, the ripples that, all wind-tossed,
Gestured rhythmically.
Now they change to the blue of an icey-hued star
That I watch with a worshipping awe.
Of what matter to me the gem without flaw,
Who wishes alone, afar?
(I await now the next change from green and from blue
To a sort of a warmer, come-get-me-son hue!!)
by Ray Romine Thursday, January 4, 1945
