I look in the mirror
And I catch the sight
Of a vision, needing repair
And I look in despair
At the woman I am facing.
She truly is a sight,
And with my heart racing
I reach for the ‘beauty kit’
If he saw me like this,
He’d surely have a fit.
Where has that woman gone,
Whose hair naturally curls?
And falls so much softer,
Than all the other girls.
Where are those thick dark lashes?
That so demurely come to rest
On blushing cheeks of rose,
And lips that glow cherry red,
Just where are those?
When really put to the test
Every woman is a sorceress.
She can transform herself
To become the very best
In manner and in dress
And most of the time she becomes
Something that she is not.
But then, what the hell,
If witchcraft is all she’s got
And she wants to keep him,
Then why the hell not?
But on the other hand
If any woman could
She’d bring in a new dawning
And save herself the pain
For one who just shaves in the morning
And pulling on his jeans,
Sees her ever so often – and again
Somewhere along the way
He grunts, and frowning slightly
Turns to her and solemnly says-
“Something has happened to your hair”
Or after a deep appreciative look
Says “what a beauty…
Of a car over there.”
I sometimes say I shouldn’t mind
But I certainly would always bother.
For what are the tortures of hunting
Compared to a find of his kind.