Do not run from the sun, the bluebird said,
Your feet will unravel, leaving nothing but thread.
Then lend me your wings , she said in reply,
And we’ll fly to a place where the shadows don’t lie.
Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who is the fairest of the them all?
Not you of course, your hair’s a fright.
Those fuzzy strands are quite the sight.
Your lipstick’s smudged,
Your eyes too small,
You hardly resemble a model at all.
Your torso’s too short,
Your breasts are too small,
Your thighs are too wide,
And your nose is too long.
Before you start crying,
Or making a fuss,
Remember your eyes are not to be trust.
An image of beauty that you fail to see,
Is reflected directly in front of me.
My dear, I’m not lying,
It’s as plain as can be.
A vision of beauty stands before me.