Grey was the color of her eyes.
Soft as the feathers of a
mourning dove, mysterious as
the fog rolling over the river,
encircled with lashes deep as
the midnight sky.
Eyes that watched every movement,
gauged every nuance, that never let a
thing get by.
Thoughtful eyes, questioning eyes,
eyes that never shed a public tear up
until the day they were closed forever.
______________________________
Terrytown child’s death is ruled a homicide; father arrested.
Charlotte Hamrick 
There are some beautiful phrases here, and a slow development – right up to that unsuspected last line. Very beautiful.
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Thank you, John.
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zouxzoux, a very unexpected ending to a beautiful, if not very sad poem.
Pamela
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