Wrinkles

This afternoon I peered into the mirror

and beheld her aged face.

With trembling hand I added contour of rose and ovals of gray.

Out popped lips and eyes from fleshy terrain.

I studied the tawny floor upon which time had waltzed in glass slippers, 

leaving memories of the dance.

Worry and fret had marched there too,

side by side in combat boots,

adding depressions and ridges like exposed tree roots.

Smiling Back At My Designer

Below her face

a grand staircase,

with runner laid beautifully in the folds,

met small mound of chin covered in fine scrawl.

There, written with care, by Ancient of Days,

her design, blueprint of God, coming clear with years.

Radiating from her mouth like rays of sun, delicate lines recalled laughter, and millions of expressions besides.

His Glory On My Face

Oh the valleys, how splendid,

furrows made by Lover’s touch

tracing features, knowing her, wiping tears!

I’m thankful Lord for fifty-two years,

for exquisite carvings upon my face

attesting to Your amazing grace.

Sonnets You’ve written and mine in reply

character emerging ‘round mouth and eye.

What a blessing to grow old with You,

live, wrinkle, and die!

Seeing Him In The Shadows On My Face,

Terry

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