• She is not pretty by any means,
    nor in physical or psychological aspects,
    but beautiful to some,
    though not spoken of,
    beauty is heard blatantly,
    at their call of her name.

    For them does she progress,
    forward on, to concrete,
    their found beauty,
    in a shapeless weed,
    for they,
    make she.

    They heat the blood,
    the blood forcing the brush,
    to create the beauty,
    in which they believe.

    While they look upon,
    the creation of beauty,
    they do miss,
    the reality of the gorgeous.

    The reality of the mind,
    the fool,
    who has painted myself,
    from pink toe to red cheek.

    To be the beauty,
    of the art,
    to be the ancient,
    the smile,
    of the Mona Lisa.