I see your van arrive, emblazoned with the postie sign,
the glamour that's within so hard to hide.
Your face so soft, smile so sweet,
such dazzling teeth that Simon Cowell can only strive for.
Gracious, unspoken, modest,
a tempt of gorgeousness that oozes without even trying.
Natural talent, bizarre, a dizzying height,
a rapture of beauty and one of heavens kisses.
Your eyes, they laugh.
To get lost in them is to get lost in an unending maze,
a welcome maze that no one would want to be released from.
You are your own picture, your own poem, your own song.
You can have your own flower but these you have to help grow.
You, you climbed the highest mountain and rained down on us with such blessed glory no nurture was needed.
We can borrow beauty, nip and a tuck, make up here, gym there - you just swarm it as if a tornado has come and ripped up the rule book.
Engrossed in a wave of oblivion your beauty amassed and fitted together like a freshly made jigsaw in tip top condition.
Enough of the adulation,
I just can't wait to see your smile again.