I am not beautiful,
said Yehudit,
I am just that
in the eyes of those
that look and see
or do not
and say as I.

I look in the mirror
and see just me
who ever me is
that I see
and undecided
I give way
to thoughts
of some fiction
of my brain
and then I am me
and just that again.

But beauty
some say they see,
and seeing think
it's me,
but I see not
what they may see,
I see no beauty
here or there
upon my features
or skin or hair
or eyes or smile,
but they that do,
may put it there
with over love
or love excelling
or just love struck.

I see the mirror image,
the reflected face
and deep set eyes
and smile sometimes
and know it well,
seen often,
taken in
and put aside,
and so,
seeing nothing
have nought to hide.

But he says
I have beauty,
that he sees it
and knows it
and can dream of it
and touch it
and kiss it,
and having
such words
he can almost
convince even me,
that she
whom I look at
and see, is she
whom he sees
and not
the real me.