Running sink and dishes mix with tears she cries
Suds upon her hands mean she can't wipe her eyes
She has heard it and it has once been mentioned
So why can't she see it within her reflection
She is so much more. She is beautiful.

The Painter's hand uses smooth brush strokes to paint her curls
Which toss to and fro whenever she would swirl
And she might not dance the best, but always with a smile
Reminding inside this young woman was still a child
And she would look at you. Smile with her eyes

She walks slowly to her room, the tears have dried
Wounds still fresh, but still she says that she's all right
I would give up heaven to make her never doubt
To banish such thought that I can't seem to figure out

Her teeth a pearly white only comparable to angel's shine
Biting her lip when she's thinking, turning bright red when she's shy
No season could match how I feel when her love surrounds me
Hugging me each time so tight, as if I was lost and she just found me

She sits there, solitary, on her bed, in the silence of her room
Heartbeat echoes in her head where brutal thoughts that loom
And I stand there, helplessly to see the girl of grace
Lines etched and shining, showing where tears have fallen down her face
And she is wonderful. And she is beautiful.

And I will remind her every day...