Looking at her reflection in the mirror
She notes without complaisance
The lines getting deeper
More numerous
Each passing day more appear
It really is a continuing
Work in progress
You'd think her looks
Would be clearly defined
This isn't the case
She becomes fuzzier
Heavier in features
The healthy glow
She was endowed with
A few months ago has left
Leaving behind a dull skin
Her grey hair falls without grace
Limply around her face
Her lips keep peeling
Older and fragile
The mirror doesn't lie
It's only natural
A question of time
Before she turns into a crone.
Lucette C. Bailliet
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