What beauty is profound, shining, and true? 

Can beauty be but the surface’s sights? 

Like the dawn sky red and day sky blue,

Or is it more than a gem without blights?

For, in truth, beauty is an innate grace, 

Whose strength can weather the noblest of storms

Which smiles beneath its possessor’s kind face

The ice of the lonely tundra, it warms

A beauty wished for by all who are wise,

Which could unite a world steeped in chaos,

For it brings such gallant sparks to all eyes,

The flower that sprouts from the wet spring moss

      The ones that possess this beauty are few, 

      But I know that one such person is you.