The Mirror
Sadly, the bathroom mirror never lies
An old man, three scores and a dime
Stares at him, dark shadows under both eyes
Face wrinkled, ancient like Father Time!
Hair once black, wavy; now sparse and gray
Once sparkling eyes; bloodshot and watery
A charming smile that led virgins astray
Now crooked, rueful, full of melancholy!
Truly, the years have not served him well
All ten fingers hurt, so do both knees
Once fit and hale, he’s now but a shell
Of his youth; simply awaiting life’s release
Yet he considers himself the luckiest of men
For a lady loves him, even with all his flaws
An angel who stands by him time and again
Despite the hardships; and life’s many blows
At times, he feels unworthy of her love
And his eyes glisten when he thinks of her
Of his good fortune; the gift from heaven above
Who came along to save him from disaster
But melancholy remains deep in his heart
Rueful that soon he’ll leave her forever
Sadness visits whenever from her, he’s apart
But smiles are inevitable when he’s around her
In the mirror, the old man stares back at him
The smile not as crooked, the eyes no longer dim
02-10-2018
© Vic A Evora
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