To Me

She paints the sullen sky,
Her hue of velvet green,
With the joyous smile of a child.
A smile reminiscent of,
A time long since seen,
By her gentle heart so wild.

She sings to the wind,
That whispers to leaves;
The kiss of spring on her lips.
Her eyes gently closed,
But unable to deceive,
The raindrops on her silken fingertips.

Oblivious to all but,
The caress of the snow,
She revels in all she can see.
A mere child enchanted
By ashen flakes on her nose,
She's always a woman to me.

By,
Nikhil Menon