Queen Regnant

The black chalk imprints me

Brush a finger across my form to shade in my skin

The hand moves rhythmically 

Oh, how time fades yet the hands still remember me

Once they trod lightly across my delicate figure

Those fingers tickled my sides

Those hands rubbed me down, gently and sweet

Now, they lay me down on blank canvas, gently and sweet

The hands move free as the mind wanders on

Then, the pencil comes along

It sketches in my details, lingering…remembering

The hands grow tired as I start to come to life

The artisan looks briefly at what his hands have done

As I sit and rest easy on the wooden easel