She was pretty.
Scratch that.
She was beautiful.
Scratch that too.
She was more beautiful,
Than a sunrise on a winter morning.
Or a rainfall on an autumn day
Where the leaves dance in the wind
And fill the sky with life.
More beautiful than a flower
That breaks through the cracks
Of a concrete garden
And brings color to the air.
She was more beautiful,
Than any poem that's ever been written.
She was beautiful.
Scratch that.
She still is.