Presence.

When I step from my study, all my titles behind,
A canvas meets my eyes, and therein peace I find,
Not in the halls of academia does my deepest pride unwind,
But a painting of just 2 colours bold and tender- a love 13 years kind.

Through every season, side by side,
And in her prime, i cried.
Her form in oils preserved, against time's cruel grind.
Each glance, now she's gone, brightens my darkest bind,
Her presence in my living room, was a solace accidentally designed.

The clock's hands gently took her away,
Yet her memory, pigmented, forever will stay.
For this artwork, her essence, my hands intertwined.
Take my acclaim and honour, its but fleeting praise assigned.
My true achievement is a testament - where her love and joy enshrined.

Her absence reminds me that life's end is unkind,
Why then, when I gaze upon her, is its meaning redefined?
How does her spirit glow a legacy the frame just cannot confine?

Here a poem, for Meg, her presence I'll never consign.