You’re gazing long into a lady’s face,
a probing look to search out any flaw;
the mental picture you in secret draw,
compared to model queens of style and grace.
The slightest thing, a hair that’s out of place,
akin to breach of some unwritten law;
and so you see in viewing features raw
another outward sign of her disgrace.

But what is there to say that beauty’s missed?
Is not there something hidden deep inside?
Whatever seems to be the final price,
there is one truth that cannot be dismissed;
that inner beauty rides upon life’s tide,
while surface features vanish in a trice.