Beauty lies not in merely a face
Nor in the soft arms of embrace
Nor in the perfect time and place

Beauty lies in a kitten amidst play
It lies in the soft fur that lays
It lies in the purr that will stay

Beauty lies in a lone rose in the field
It lies in grace that does not yield
It lies in a calmness, tranquility, still

Beauty lies as a blessing to see
It lies in embracing our destiny
It lies within even you and me

Penned by my hand on Closday, the 16th of Arios, in the year 503 MA.