Of character a face can tell

The camera shot me as I am

And not as I had been –

Was like the grass in time of drought

Before rain turned it green.

The bird appeared to be my friend

Before he fell on me

The ocean was azure blue –

Dirt floated to the sea.

As I recounted photos, past,

I watched my face despair

As supple texture fell away,

Another face was there.

I was told that age wearies you

And that the years condemn –

Like the garden’s face in winter –

Wilting from the stem.

The weeds protrude the courtyard –

Then cut down to size –

Yet they’ll grow back another day

And warrant no surprise.

Oh, mirror, mirror, on the wall

Can you estimate?

What is my final destiny?

Can you see it in my face?

Your face is like the weather –

Happy when it’s fine

And sometimes like the river’s depth

That changes with the tide.

The weather may bring thunderstorm –

A danger to your home

Like a budding flower after summer

With odorous cologne.

Your face is like a mountain –

Atop the valley and the stream

A mountain has the wherewithal

Of having seen that scene.

Your face can be a darkened cloud

After rain, the storm

Or it can be a strange facade

That may disguise that storm.

Your face may be a troubadour –

Excitement was his name

It may well be off cue sometimes

Finding lust not fame.

It may be like an artefact –

A manufactured work of art

Or a newly fashioned painter

A classic, from the start.

Your face is like a shallow creek –

A trickle, or some more

And it may hide a saving grace

It stores in soul, galore.

It hides behind the corner, shy

Proving times, diverse

And suffers in its solitude

And writes poetic verse.

Yet it never sends a sour note

It cannot bear to shame

It always, always, tries its best

And fears its sweet refrain.

Your face may rise above itself

Or fall below the sea

But never, never, will it groan

And swear obscenity.

It values what it offers

And what it has to glean

So it worships splendour in this life

And deserts a squalid scene.

Your face cares for the children

Adults, it takes to court

And when father time calls its name

It renders for the sort

Of character a face can tell –

Yet rarely seen by you

But when it leaps to take control

It begins your life, anew.

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