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About This Author
A changeling spirit,
constantly evolving,
revolving around an inner core,
spinning forth legend and lore,
stories and lives
as I come to grips
with who and what I am,
have been and may be.
I am a phoenix:
rising ever above and beyond!
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The Face in the Glass I look at myself; at the face in the glass
And see a stranger, some foreign lass
For I cannot be as old as she;
The one reflected cannot be me.
I don’t feel that old, well sometimes I do
But that image I see just cannot be true!
I look old and wrinkled; oh brother—
I’m thinking I look just like my mother!
I still feel young though these wrinkles I’ve earned,
But must I wear all these lessons I’ve learned?
Inside, I’m still young and full of spit;
Aha—a trick mirror—that must be it!
Yet I lie in bed and my husband’s hand
Caresses etchings, a map of life spanned
And tells me I’ll always be that girl he asked to dance;
How he’d do it again if given the chance.
Perceptions change when viewed in the glass;
I’ll stick with my mind’s eye, on the other, I’ll pass
For I still see my husband, though bald and gray
As the sexy young cowboy he was that first day!
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© Copyright 2011 Fyn-elf (fyndorian at Writing.Com).
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