Pretty.  And she was,

So why not tell her—

And I did.  Pretty, I said,

And she smiled

And blushed,

And we never met again.

 

And so I had to think,

Why it was so important to say

A word so simple

To someone I didn’t know

One I would not meet again

A woman who was, of all things,

Pretty?

 

A simple thing, yet not taken easily

Or said lightly

Or in jest. 

Hardly.

A word fraught with meaning—

With special things said

In one word.

 

Not gorgeous or sexy or

Ravishing, or hot  ---

Not even simply beautiful.

More.  Pretty, a face that

Is warming, that is enjoyment

Pure and simple, to see,

To watch.

 

Pretty.  The eyes that smile

Very lightly are sincere

And match the upturn of lips

That invite with pleasantness

Kindness, soft cheeks that hint

Of children at play, of silly kisses,

Of giggles, of concern, of care.

 

There is a place that pretty resides

Within the mind that looks

And must continue looking

Even if done so secretly that

None will ever know.

It resides there, where the mind catches

And seizes the moment to say

 

Pretty. 

How pretty. 

Stay back, just watch

And enjoy.

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