The Widow

The widow’s peeking back at me through silver streaking strands.
The crow has left his talon marks, before my eyes he stands.
To near to see what shouldn’t be, I feel with wrinkled hands.
Not sure whose staring back at me, not sure just who I am.

A face that’d launch a thousand ships has sailed or lost its way.
No one seems to see its transient path, till it looks back at you one day.
Reflective crevices in this looking glass, furrowed through as time goes by.
To look at it now, a questions prose, has something gone awry?

These laughing lines aren’t smiling now, but do remember when,
Life had a way of passing by while waiting to begin.
These pearly whites have lost their glow resembling maize of yellow ears.
Who could have known the days would pass like rows and rows of years.

The cow keeps licking that same old place, that’s thinner now than then
Though dyed and pinned and glued with paste its beauty just pretend.
Eroded hollows of a once flawless vase, have surrendered all but left a trace,
This shadow of what once was fair, and a happy life that‘s found so rare.

So look again and come what may, you’ll find that on that winter’s day
Last alabaster skin you bare will spot and sag whilst never dare. 
Yet, golden years should not be blue, if love has made a friend of you
So look with pride and not dismay for it is yourself you see today.

So, thine be true and mind your way,
It is yourself you see today.