The oval of her face
Blue, happy, somewhat tired.
It glares in Hares of lire.

A falling star leaves mark
Half-real and half-dark
Above the shoulders' arc

The oval of her face
Uncertain, sharp, maternal
Like music, frail, eternal

Like happiness, unsafe

Like youth, fresh, silly, brave
Like life, from birth to grave

There is no use at all
To try explain it all
Just as in love to fall

And, yet, who would surrender
One glance at quaky, tender
That oval of her face?..