A Flaw That Makes Me Flawless

There’s a freckle on my nose,

it comes out in the sun

like a sly and preying prankster,

peeking, then on the run. 

There’s a freckle on my nose,

the dab of a writer’s blot,

as if the marksmen placed his pen

then pulled away, musing, “Well, that’s all I’ve got.”

There’s a freckle on my nose, 

not a beauty mark or mole--

those icons for the masses,

to which many sell their soul. 

The freckle on my nose, 

single to my mother’s many;

the tiny copper speck,

makes me feel as rich as any.