Some women seem to fall into beauty The universe conspiring at their side Blessed with good form and clear skin They forgo powders that hide or smooth Clean-faced they face the world These goddesses put those to shame They might spend a year at labour Spending all their energy in strife Yet mortal eyes will be amazed At what wonders come to light A goddess rising from a tousled bed Will have wild locks of darkest black Mortal women might spend days With combs and picks and sprays In hope to pull off such effect On completing some great labour When their eyes are sore and tight Darken into shadows perfect shaded Fatigue adorns them like charcoal powder Therein lies their perfect power Incorruptible by simple life Accepting in the dross of living That lesser women try to hide They turn it into beauty To make the mortals wail and cry
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This work is Copyright (c) Mike Fletcher 2006