Her Eyes Will Never Change Before I knew her, I have heard, Her hair was long and auburn. Her skin was clear And for years, her face unpierced. Her eyes were blue as gold, Big and beautiful, to be cliché. And when you looked into them You could see happiness and pain, At the same time desire and angst, Like sunshine during the rain. She was clever and smart, Devious and wise, She loved math and art. And lived a blessed life through mess and lies. She took everything in stride But not for her own gain. I think it’s passion that made those eyes gleam. And it seems passion that would remain. When I knew about her, not firsthand, She had hair that shadowed her heart. Light and long and lovely, To oppose her spirit that was dark. Her nose and ears were decorated, To match her independent will. She was fun and speculated little Before trying anything that might fulfill. Her eyes were blue as gold, Big and beautiful, to be cliché. And when you looked into them, It was still like sunshine through a rain. And she took in stride, Her most devastating tragedy, Locking feelings deep inside, Cultivating misery. But the glaring passion through her eyes Proved to stay the same. Her hair was short and bright. When I met her on a drive. Her skin adorned a portion of her life, And her face was vividly alive. Her eyes were blue as gold. Big and beautiful, to be cliché. And when I looked into them It was like sunshine during rain. She was at first timid But still she sang. She brought happiness, But she clearly held pain. I no longer wondered about her passion, And her eyes lived up to their name. When I was close to her Her hair smelled always good. Her face was full of character, And her skin was only smooth. Her eyes were blue as gold. Big and beautiful, to be cliché. And when I stared into them, I felt the sunshine and the rain. She only loved or hated. She felt blessed and then accursed. She was very close before she faded. And we were the best before the worst. I am glad to have lived in her passion And do not regret those eyes drawing me in. When years have grown apart Her hair may be silver or tangerine Her skin may be consumed by art, And her face covered in rings. But her eyes will be blue as gold. Big and beautiful, to be cliché. And when you look into them You’ll see sunshine and rain. And I will never want anything But that which she retains. I will always want such passion, And hope for sunshine within rain. | 