'Don't fetch the mirror.
No, don't touch!'
She will not look,
She's lost too much.
Her face;
That once upon a time,
Was all reflected, always fine;
Has changed;
And time, a jealous thing,
Has wrinkles ploughed into her skin.
Her once bright beauty's lost beneath,
Her faded, powdered, puckered cheek.
And bitterness has gripped her brow,
No laughter lines, just fish mouth now.
A fortune spent, to no avail,
Her face it tells a sorry tale.
Regardless of their creams and lies
A sagging hangs around her eyes,
And even knives could not defend,
From botox scars, for in the end,
This mirror tells a bitter truth...
Old age has clearly stolen youth.
Far better had she faced the fact,
That being eighteen would not last,
And focused on the her inside,
The soul her vanity denied.
Perhaps instead of fear and doubt,
Her spirit would have shouted out,
And made the most of what she'd got...
Instead of leaving hope to rot.
Perhaps she would have seen the truth.
There's more to life than craving youth.
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