She was happy, when she saw it in the first place,
the picture of her father,
caught his likeness in such spectacular ways,
and she smiled at the way he smiled and laughed,
and looked lovingly,
at the lines on his face,
and at the colour of his skin,
his skin so rugged but soft,
and his nose so elegant in its pose,
and in his eyes,
in his eyes his heart was captured with a light,
that sparkled so bright,
and in her mind was his mind,
and all the conversations that had taken place,
and what a memory,
what a picture,
what skill used in the paints,
and what an evocation of his being,
that lit up her face,
for in her eyes,
in her eyes he was alive,
and she was ever grateful,
as the tears of joy,
tears of joy rolled down her face,
and what a work of art it was,
what a work of art,
that captured her heart,
in the picture of her father,
the picture of her father,
that now takes his place.