Is Beauty constant like a piece of art?

That’s never harmed by people’s thoughts or actions-

Or is it AS IT IS?


Like wood may be it raw or polished-

Is it all the same?

Does it remain unmarred by time as it goes by-

Leaving behind no judgements?


Is beauty fleeting like a lover’s promise-

In innocence of love that is so tender?

Or can it be that after time I still may notice-


That even the unpolished wood or rusty bars-

May also have their charms?

Forever covered in dry lavender—


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