Layer upon layer of time
settles on your face,
making you resemble ever more Her grace.
At first your peachy cheek just slowly ripens,
turning magnificently firm and sweet
but later, time will just keep adding meat.
However, there are places that escape
and stubbornly shake off the dust of years:
the sides of stretching smiles, the spot where rage appears.
Between new you, cocooned in soft time sheets
And old young you, refusing to adjust
there come the lines, and then the rifts through faces past.
It’s funny how that thought improves the coping
as morning mirrors start reflecting Mom:
the lines are you and what you have become.