It Depends - Poem by nithya john
Rich, black curls
Smooth fore head
The attractive smile
The cool walk
The smooth strides...
He says, 'She is beautiful.'
Rich and glad spirit
Ever listening ears
Ever loving face
Calm in the tempest
Sweet lullaby in sleep
Another he says, 'She is beautiful.'
It depends on your outlook....
Still...she is the girl, sister, wife, mother, grandmother.
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Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You