“My mirrored self,” she said,
“Is my single foe;
Its dark dim eyes, its vacant gaze
Reminds me of far better days
Than these it brings to face.
The wrinkled skin,
The crow’s feet lines,
The sagging breasts
Are all the symbols
Of a different age and time,
And look like one
Who’s plague by sins and crime.”
She stared along the other self,
Raised a hand, and watched
The other hand raised in its sad repeat
And wondered if below
It raised its feet and she had done.
“Go my mirrored self,” said she,
“Go find some other face to plague with lies,
Because this one reminds now
That something in me dies.
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Comments: 7
This woman seems too late to realize the certain power of "young."
You've handled this subject with truth and care, Terry. Well done.
that's all i can say.