Far
more than the rest of us,
women are drawn and quietly stirred
by the unruffled gaze of mirrors—
seeking, in that lucid calm,
news of
the self:
elusive shades, fleeting prints
of beauty and grace that ought,
surely, to be there—
if one
takes the pain
to look intently,
to take one’s best,
proper care.
Then
comes the immortal dilemma:
how much—or how little—
of inner beauty
must we carry
before we dare
put beauty on,
about us?
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