Beauty is not fleeting like they always say;
Beauty, true beauty is that which is held on to.
Like the lingering flavor of red wine on your lips
After a last sip it sits, resting, the sweet stain relishing your mouth.

Beauty is your hand, not as smooth as it once was
Holding mine like it always does, a glove, securely saying
That like wine--this hand ages well and remembers its youth.
We are smart enough to know not to yearn for those days though.

It is not beauty that we see on the face of a newborn baby-
It is the beauty of some ancient miracle taking place,
A moment in time when we are welcomed into the arms
Of history because we briefly see what it means when God says “Beauty”.

I know when you look at me and call me beautiful, it is true.
Not because I am that young girl you saw at the bottom of an elevator,
Trying to look beautiful with red lips--no.  You see a woman
That has allowed maturity and children to take her place, defined by grace.

My beauty is subtle and comes from a lack of trying to be
What this world tells you beauty should be and you find me
Beautiful after all this time, without even trying you look in my eyes
And somewhere far beyond what you see, is beauty- that is not fleeting.