Write about me she said,
Write me a poem and tell it to the stars,
Talk about my talents,
Or confess my many scars.
But her beauty could not be captured,
By any photo or ball point pen,
And no length of poetic summaries could ever,
Express the fire that she holds within.
Even Venus, she is envious of her,
As she walks this earth with grace,
A fallen angel from the heavens above,
To know her soul is to know real strength.
She twirls her arms above her head,
As she dances down the street,
Twisting and turning away with the wind,
With the prettiest smile you ever did see.
She needs nothing from you, and she takes nothing more,
She comes and goes softly with poise,
With all of the beauty she possesses she still is so compassionate,
Because that is who she is by choice.