Renoir’s Portrait of Coco
cannot match
your beauty. She’s only a cute young girl
painted by a master. If he would watch
you as I do, he’d recall soft, dark curls
of The Parisian, her patient
face, height
of French fashion in her royal blue dress.
He’d catch your smile’s intense grace, welcome sight
of your delicate frame, how the Muse blessed
your taste in hue and texture of each cloth
touching your silken skin, dark hair flowing
over your classic shoulders. Were I both
bolder and vocal, I’d sing you glowing
lyrics from Audrey Hepburn soundtracks. Yet
art decided you deserved this sonnet.
Roger Armbrust
June 25, 2013
