empty

A sky touched by a painter’s hand. 
Glowing rays flood warm faces. 
The breeze sings and whispers. 
A group of girls sit
Listening
But not listening
To their coach.
He speaks a language
That is foreign
And strange
To the girls picking grass
And watching the sunset
Kiss the horizon. 
There is one girl
Who sits still,
Silent,
And listens
To the foreign language
And tries to understand. 
But all she understands
Is that the day is beautiful
But her face is stone. 
The day is beautiful
But her eyes are cold. 
The day is beautiful
But her soul feels empty.