You say you don't know what they see in her

And I can't stop the disbelief that floods my face.

How could you miss how perfect she is?

You look at me oddly when I protest,

"You know, she's really pretty."

"She's plain," you say, but I've made you rethink.

"I suppose it's her eyes," you say

"She has come hither eyes that call the boys to her."

You laugh.

I force a grin, but it's no laughing matter.

Those eyes of hers work on more than just boys.