Outward beauty:
A passing breeze--
Stirs the drapes
And its gone.

Inner beauty:
That shines through
Whatever you have on.

I see their tanned and weathered skin
And wonder where your hands have been.

I see the gray streak in your hair
And know it wasn't always there.

My heart before I met you
Was desolate and cold,
With gusts of howling wind
And shifting drifts of snow.

Now, the wind lives in your hair,
And your eyes my shelter are.