Contrariety

I watched him receive the much coveted award,

    For the best lyricist of the year;

A stocky old man with a pock-marked sallow face,

    Who, I guessed, to seventy was extremely near.

A plain, unhandsome, old man he was, I observed,

    An amorphous robe was his dress;

So, than his peers, clad in richer attire,

    I thought he deserved much less.

But, then I remembered roses on thorny stems,

    And stars sparkling in the dark skies;

Ugly combs where the honey remains stored,

    And uncut diamonds of many a different size.

Truth dawned on me that exterior can belie,

    What is deposited in the innermost core;

That, this beautiful man, I’d shallowly judged,

    Over the ugly garb he wore!