Those eyes

Last February,
On my trip to the hills,
I saw a little girl
in a shack down the road.

Her scrunched up face
had soot on it.
But, it was her eyes
that shone.

Part vacant innocence
part idle probing,
they looked through me,
Saw my rough hewn soul.

Her father was the tea man,
and she, his ungainly hostess.
Though the road swivelled by,
the shack stood still;
Against time,
against the purple sky.

As we drove away
Through the glutinous mist,
It was her eyes that shone.