There was a farmer that owned an orchard full of apple trees. He was proud of the fruit the trees bore, but of one specifically. When the people came by, they climb and they'd try to pick the prettiest apple. But the farmer would always brag of his choice of his most precious sample. He begged and he pleaded, but the people proceeded to choose the one of their liking.
The farmer implored that their beauty was flawed and their choice was to his dis-liking.
Yet their choice they had made, and their money they paid for the apple of their eye.
But when they bit it disappointment soon hit because their apple was dry. Their refusal to obey the farmer that day kindled the fire within him. For he plucked his prize, and before their eyes, removed a small piece of skin. Tho' not cut to the core, the apple bought forth nectar that was thirst appeasing.
And the people did cry, but their thirst he denied because their attitude was displeasing.
Attractive and pleasing, it's looks often teasing, when the fruit held no value. So parched and thirsty with no sign of relief 'cause your apple had no juice for you.
His delight, you see was not in beauty, he saw past the blemish of the skin. For the farmer ignored the skin that was flawed and saw the beauty within.