Beauty of a woman

There was a painting

Of the beauty of a woman

Her eyes were sad

But her smile preserved her soul

Her clothing was an old and dirty dress

But she wore it with the courage to show herself

Her hair was brown and simple

But in her hands they felt like golden rays

The artist didn't need questions neither he spoke the answers

But the beauty of a woman is to be strong no matter the situation

The artist admired the painting for hours

Feeling the canvas against his hand

Feeling the dried pain rasp his fingertips

Feeling the emotions boom inside his soul

The beauty of a woman, he called the painting

The strength of a woman, everyone admired

The life of some women, everyone thought

The artist stared into the woman in the painting

The scars and bruises of her were kept as memories of how much he fought

The dried tears of her were how much he suffered but, she survived

The dirt on her were the memory of her battle

The beauty of a woman, pure and memorial

The artist cried, feeling his chest tightened at the memory of the woman

Mother, he cried