The Beauty Of My Sister

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My older sister separates her cornsilk hair,
Than parts it in two soft, neat rows
While I watch with fascination, admiring
That suppleness she has, the gleam of
Maturity, while I smile to the panelled glass
My dimples raised with surface smiles
As I try to mirror her true gracefulness,
Her glossy lips, her effortless ease
As I do, she breaks into laughter
Without dimples, her
Cherry-red cheeks forged by blush and smoothness of hand
While mine are natural, real
We finish talking and I run outside to play
The sun applies my blush; nature makes me beautiful
I didn't realize back then how lucky I was.





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