Sharon

Sharon sat in silence on the back row.If she could, she would have made her selfInvisible, or moved about the worldLike Eurydice, never to be looked at,Saving the gazer from pain and distress.And for her, there was a kind of deathIn the look which the lepers knew too well -Three years old she had burned in a fireWhich scarred her face and her future.She reached out to me in her essaysConfiding her most tender thoughts:‘How I long to go to town and not be stared at.’

I had never met a more gentle soul,Nor one with more longing to be lovedThan this girl who lived in pain and silence.In one little story she described her‘Favourite teacher’, and I knew, by theDescription, she was describing me -This was a love Juliet never knew.But I could only offer her a fewPaltry words smuggled into her lifeThrough a teacher’s written comments –True, we swapped many friendly spoken wordsBut I longed to tell her she was one of theMost beautiful girls I had ever known.I knew though, that however the world turned,And even if water had been turned into wine,I would never be able to turn my thoughts,For her, into any sort of truth.