Beautiful she was

but not as eyes would see.

Few there were

who glanced her way

or turned to watch her walk.

 

Beautiful she was

but not the cloths she wore.

She hid herself

in shapeless dress

but still her light shone through.

 

Beautiful she was,

it showed in gentle moves.

She glided down a busy street

as if no one were there.

 

Beautiful she was,

ethereal, serene.

Had she found

the very source,

from whence true beauty wells?

 

David Garlick, Seattle, September 1990