The Beauty of My Woman
The beauty of my woman is found not in the fit of her clothes, nor the application of her cosmetics.
It matters not how plaited her hair or the fall of it upon her shoulders
Neither does the color of her hair matter, nor the smoothness of her beautiful skin.
All these fail to show the real beauty of who she has become to me.
The beauty of my woman comes from who is she,
Not who she is to the world, nor to her parents or friends, not really who she is to herself.
But the beauty of who my woman is comes from who she is to me, and for me, her man.
The beauty of my woman comes from the inner depth of who she’s been for a lifetime.
I saw one of her first laughs as a child, another of her sneaky snickers when she pulled my hair when 10,
I chased her through the school yard when she was in the sexist of sundresses at 14 with a smile on her face as she looked back at me, and it was stunning.
I watched the first flow of tears as she held our babies and the first flow of tears when they found harm.
I held her in my arms in the raptures of love, and cradled her in my arms during her greatest sorrows. And still, I’ve seen the gentle laughter of her soul.
I’ve watched the beauty of her faithfulness as she endured the long nights of my pains, and the joy of her unselfish love for me as life continued and still she remained, and me the same.
The beauty of my woman is in who she is within, how she endures, persists and remains my love when so many others would have fled.
Think not that there is not beauty in the natural figure of the woman she is, but her real beauty cannot be seen with the naked eye. That is fleeting for her beauty is eternal.
To see the true beauty of my woman you must be blessed enough to spend a lifetime in her smiles, her arms, her kisses and her eyes.
Everyone can see her outward beauty, what’s not to see? But, she’s more than that to me.