write a poem about an ugly boy named Cole.
A creature lived in shadows deep,
In pitch-dark corners he would weep.
The piteous taunts, they echoed far,
A lonely, wretched soul—'twas Cole.
His visage foul, a mangled mess,
Ensconced in layers like a tress.
A gnarled tree, Cole’s bumpy skin,
In nature’s lottery, he’d ne'er win.
His sunken toad-like eyes did glint,
Shifting 'neath the moonlit tint;
With every step he took, they’d sigh,
“Oh wretched Cole, you beast, pass by!”
The village folk all scorned him so,
But deep within the seeds did sow.
For in their haste to judge his face,
They never knew his heart's embrace.
To gardens green, to field or brook,
He turned for solace in his nook.
Nature’s beauty, his one true friend—
Would such cruel times ever end?
‘Twas in the woods he found his fate,
A crumbling tower, replete with slate.
Upon the window ledge he spied,
A dove entrapped time could not bide.
He climbed and scraped, with fingers raw,
For in his heart, compassion thrived.
Ignoring all his pulsing pain,
He yearned to free her fragile frame.
Silently, he cracked the lock,
His figure loomed, the bird in shock.
For Cole—a sight she’d ne'er endured,
Her vision blurred, her nerves unsure.
But ‘twixt his bony, wiry hands,
A fleeting touch, a golden strand.
With tenderness he brushed her wing,
A voice like rust, he softly sings.
A song of ne'er forgotten dreams,
His heart's lyrics—beggars and kings.
A creature foul, his beauty shone,
In that dark tower, hope was born.
She burrowed close, those withered hands,
A beacon guiding to the sands.
For all his wretched face did show,
Neath that visage was a bright soul.
And so it was, a truth unsung,
The fairest songs from hearts do come.
Ugly Cole's eyes but told one tale,
Now he shall never walk alone.