I look into her face,
A person wholly unknown to me;
Common, not made up with the world.
Her hair neither red nor brown exclusively,
well-kept, wavy, unmemorable;
No adornment but the simpleness given to her.
You may not even notice her;
She is not shiny on the surface.
But, it strikes me,
She may be a capital instrument of God’s grace.
Right before me;
This may be one who is made great,
and she may change the world.