God himself pondered long and hardWhen he held the brush and colors in his hand,After pouring your dreamlike formHe wondered, what would it be, that beautiful face?
He worked for days and carved a lipFragile, as sweet as honey,That all its life would burn like embersTo bring forth only the golden word.
The eyes two horizons, two endless seas,Deep, washed in goodness and light,Where life cradles nothing but dreamsWhere magic stays hidden within them.
Christ himself sees you, thinks and keeps silent,He marvels at your portrait on the paper,He comes and enters my poem, my line,He asks me: “Have I not made a masterpiece?”
