A birth mark
The birth mark, no fault of hers,
It only added to her, but outside.
Makeup diminished to cover up,
Trying a life, flawless a means.
The sound of her voice, conveying hers,
Polished with caring, even still unique.
To carrying in it, a spirit, lifted up,
Relinquish tears in her dreams.
Each and every day, even in hers, different,
As if she, the only rose not colored in solid.
Something new, though the hearts desire,
For the soul’s only beauty mark, is love.
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