I used to envy her.
When she walk, the butterflies
and all the eyes go with her.
Her lips have danced
the sway of her hips.
Her face marks a man's mind
as he sleeps.
And when she talk, the angels -
they get dumb and all the ears
wait for her.
When she dance, the music -
it gets heav'nly and all the men
wait for her.
But as once Isaiah saw,
now I see.
The woman I used to envy
is burning instead of beauty.
2 February 2011
Batac
Jessel Jane Tevar
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/2-nephi-13-24/
