In days gone by I used to call
My mirror ‘friend,’ not ‘foe.’
Its lack of kindness hard contrasts
Youth’s misplaced rosy glow.
My agéd visage now becomes
Its frank and stark report.
Insult atop my injured id,
My wrinkles do consort
With sagging skin, with limping walk
As age exacts its toll.
When active now, I need a cane
Where carelessly I strolled.
In contrast to the price I’ve paid
For years of living hard
A few I know seem to exempt
Themselves from Time’s dance card.
As flowers rise to face the sun
As trees grow leaves in Spring
They know too well the loss ahead
With each next season’s swing.
But one grows near, a flow’r by name,
Who’s stopped the clock’s quick hands
With secret spells, or potions dark,
Unknown to mortal man.
Your graceful witness gives me hope
To see the decades close;
Defying Father Time’s affronts
Your bloom stays with you, Rose!
Stephen Bolles
All rights reserved
14 May 2011