His Untraveled Road

I am 
a road
I am rough and uneven
bumpy and unrefined is my texture
few will travel me
even fewer know I exist
but where I can lead you
is paradise

Secret and remote are the destinations 
from me
tranquility and peace are there
where the only sound is the movement 
of water over rocks and the rustle
of leaves in the autumn wind

it is there where I await my traveler
hoping he will see the beauty
in my imperfections

Mary Claire Curtin's Questions:

Do you get from this poem that many people overlook others because of their physical imperfections. That they may fail to see the inner beauty in people because they don't give them a chance.  I want the reader to get the impression that most people take the common road and miss out on so much.