There's nothing special, really, in your face;
I find within your eyes no sweet abyss,
And in those little smiles, not a trace
Of any feature I would care to kiss.
There's no endearing sweetness in your voice,
And nothing really piercing in your gaze;
There's nothing I would bother to rejoice,
And nothing really worthy of cliches.
But something lingers still upon my mind,
A notion which no evidence sustains,
Despite your lack of specialness, I find
That something special still, in you, remains.
You've left a strong impression, I'll confess,
Where those with looks could never quite impress.