God, she is no mannequin in a mall

How foolish of her

Not to know her own beauty,

When she is like a rose,

Thinking she was something else.

Little she knew what effect she leaves behind

On poets, sculptors, lens men, et.al

Who don’t stop gaping with their mouths open.

Oh, God let her realize her worth now

And rejoice like a princess most adored.

What a waste of her grace

Befalling one who doesn’t know she has that thing?

What difference lies between a stone

Like You and a lovely dame?

Funny, I can’t hide my smirk,

Think one day she ages into an old farting broad

And reaches You to live with You for eternity!

So pray, You take her now (You forbid, of course).

Lest You infuse a sense in her idle mind—

Enable her enjoy being an angel knowing she is one.

Lest, at worst, I beg,

Please make her a mannequin

In a mall, not knowing who is watching her,

Or what is clothed next, if she is at all.