After Abbott Handerson Thayer’s “A Virgin”

Her brother wondrously puckers his lips;
Other boy’s hair blows ready for a crown.
The virgin’s brow sits unmoved, though it dips
In sky that just brushes her tattered gown.

They see sprigs of green; spring litters the ground,
Naïve faith sewn fast in their gauzy clothes.
If brittle grass cannot stay the icebound
Season, the children will be forced to doze

Forever, juxtaposed with red, skinned knees
And blank white of open eyes, a symbol:
Baby boughs breaking as true nature frees
From subfusc hues while their eyelids tremble.
She stands a beacon, holding siblings tight,
Yet can’t see past her own weakening light.