<i>for Sarah Davis</i> <br /> <br />The portrait of the princess lies <br />In scattered fragments on the floor; <br />Crouched over them a young girl tries <br />Edges that would not fit before, <br /> <br />That sulk recalcitrant . . . ah there <br />Two pieces kiss: a greyish mass <br />That could be clouds or that patch where <br />Her dress half hides the shadowed grass. <br /> <br />The afternoon wears on: she sifts <br />And sorts; a piece is placed, withdrawn; <br />She sits up suddenly and lifts <br />Impatient arms. A stifled yawn. <br /> <br />And stoops again. Here no one wins, <br />It is a world you make and enter. <br />The edge is finished – now begins <br />The serious business of the center. <br /> <br />A face emerges and young hands <br />Lie loose against grey silk; the eyes <br />Are guileless: almost there, she stands <br />Bent slightly forward in surprise.<br /><br />Dick Davis<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-jigsaw/
