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!