Beauty is a book in a box in the attic. While sure it exists, I don't consider it mine to access.
Charm is a mist, dependent upon the environ. Elusive, temporary, it never settles near for very long.
Grace is mine, and yet, sometimes I can't remember when I last used it.
Mirror, mirror on the wall, who's the fairest of them all?
(The jury's still out on that one.)
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