My first words when I saw her,
red and wrinkled,
tiny yet fat,
shocked by the sudden new world.

"She's beautiful."

Her best friend tells his mother,
SO beautiful.

I look at her again,
through his eyes.

Barely 10 years old,
he sees her more clearly than I do.
I have known her so well and so long,
I can misplace her beauty.

But,
others don't.

Her father tells me, too.

He sees less of her,
of course,
and doesn't grow used to her
as I do.

Then again, she looks so like him.

Yes, beautiful.

She doesn't understand it,
the power of beauty.

She doesn't need to.

She just IS.
And expects others to follow suit.
Maybe that is the best way.

She IS beautiful.