Walking down the street,
Walking all alone,
She isn't walking in the shadows,
She is walking slowly home.
She isn't walking in the shade,
Yet as she walks she is obscure,
The world keeps on going as if she wasn't there.
They never stop to notice the tall woman with brown hair.
There is nothing striking or arresting when you look into her face,
Plain little lips,
Not a trace of great beauty but that isn't the disgrace.
She is comfortable in her skin.
Comfortable in her looks.
The disgrace is people never seeing her anything more than commonplace.
For behind those dark brown eyes of hers lives a soul quite on fire,
And a foolish person you would be if you judge her by her attire.
No lace or diamonds does she wear,
She arrays herself instead with kindness and compassion.
Loving deeply, loving fiercely,
I want to be her in that fashion.
She appreciates the darkness,
She appreciates the days,
She appreciates the moment in all its simple ways.
I want to be like plain Jane because she is anything but plain.
I want to be like Jane because she is anything but plain.