Mama, am I pretty?
'Why do you ask', she said.
She held me gently to her,
and kissed me lightly on my head.
'Your clothes are neatly ironed.
Your face and hands are clean.
You’re such a sweet child, little one,
what does your question mean? '
Mama, am I pretty?
I really need to know.
Am I pretty like the other girls
at school where we all go?
'You have a very loving heart,
You’re gentle, kind and good.
Your friends all think the world of you,
anybody would.'
But, Mama, am I pretty?
Sometimes kids point or stare.
I’ve got these real thick glasses
that I wish I didn’t wear.
Mama said my time would come,
be patient and I’d see.
The things that really matter
were there, inside of me.
But, Mama!  Am I pretty?
(I didn’t mean to shout) .
Then Mama smiled and told me,
'Sweetheart, yes, inside and out.'