When a pretty girl walks down the street,
All the people want to meet.
This girl with slim hips and golden hair,
This girl that everybody wants to stare.
But I sit and ask myself, what is beauty?
Is true beauty not found in stealth?
Because this golden girl has no manners,
When she curses she never stammers.
The golden girl, who at the flick of her hand,
Would make sure all knew where they stand.
Yet when I came across a shy lady,
Who seemed a tad too shady;
She politely said hello and smiled keen,
And was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.