Plain Jane Poem by david lessard

She's not Mona Lisa,
what did one ever see in her?
the strangeness of a smile,
was all I could endure.

She's not a raving beauty,
nor a photographer's dream,
and you wouldn't look twice,
but things aren't what they seem.

She's a heart of gold and gladness,
and she wears a winning grin,
she watches baseball with me,
much to my chagrin.

Guys will think, what the hell,
but they don't see what I see,
perhaps they think I'M odd,
but I'm sure that she loves me.

And isn't that, what love's about?
Someone that truly cares?
Someone that shows her feelings?
A love like that is rare.

She's plain Jane, it don't matter,
she mends her soul with mine,
she doesn't bother me with things,
does not sob and does not whine.

She's my partner, that's what counts,
so she's not Marilyn Monroe,
You can't tell a book by it's cover,
That, my friends, I'm sure I know.