© 2000, Wanda L. Harrell
When I look at her, what do I see?
My eyes behold a woman who desires to be loved completely,
A woman who perceives love as a fragrant bouquet,
And yearns to be held by adoring arms each day.
When I look at her, what do I see?
My eyes behold a woman whose heart is in agony,
A woman whose shattered heart is covered by a smile,
But whose sorrow is hidden deep within all the while.
When I look a her, what do I see?
My eyes behold a woman whose eyes seem to plea,
A woman who laughs to cover the emptiness she has known,
And whose kisses await her beloved, who is yet unknown.
When I look at her, what do I see?
It is within a mirror that I look,
So, I see me.
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