Soul of the Dreamer

A poem about a drawing. I keep wondering about her story...

Lines drawn across the page,
Slowly first, then faster.
A form emerges, indistinguishable
At first, just an outline of a woman
Standing tall, erect, and proud.
Confidence lines her shoulders,
Face creased by lines and worries,
Still a smile lights her eye.
Long dark ringlets of hair,
With hints of silver here and there.
Her clothes are simple, but well made,
A silvery white dress and brown robe,
The hem a little ragged and stained.
The leather of her boots is worn,
But show signs of being well cared for.
In one elegantly wrinkled hand,
She holds a staff.
Sturdy oak that she doesn't need,
Simply a symbol of her calling.
Scenes of her life flow from the page,
As silently she speaks her name.
Echoing, gently, from the depths of imagination.