Monday's Child

Monday's child is fair of face
The magazine covers she will grace
She'll starve herself till she's hollow and gaunt
And all the latest fashions she will flaunt

She'll appear to be the toast of the town
She'll be celebrated and wear the vogue crown
But when you think she's looking demure
Look closer and see she's just insecure

For once near-perfection has been reached
The tiniest flaws must then be tweaked
Some with the magic make-up dust
And the rest with a digital airbrush

But five years further down the line
The crown has slipped and she's in decline
To keep up she must now turn to the knife
So to the plastic surgeon she entrusts her life

Her face once fair is now stitched up tight
She can no longer frown though try as she might
Her lips appear like an allergic reaction
And her nose is reset and now heals in traction

And as she faces the mirror to look
She realises all the wrong turnings she took
For that fair Monday's child was all just for show
She's now a Wednesday's woman full of nothing but woe

And so the moral of the story is this
Perfection has it's price and is rarely bliss
Far better to love and accept every blemish
And know for your real self you are truly cherished.