Whose drowsy eyes are those
The sunken faded green
that has seen so much
yet so little of the world

Those pinched lips that once
puckered for luscious kisses
or got coated in ice-cream
and smiled at absurdities

When did the heavy brow and bags arrive
And that plethora of chins
A wobbling wattle where
virgin skin was smooth and taut

Worry and tears have drawn
their lines with broad strokes
crinkling the cheeks
with creases and furrows

And what of the hair
Golden yet not
Gone is that sleek sheen of youth
that shimmered in the summer sun

Winter brings the chill
a frost to glaze those eyes
and thin the lips
tarnishing a once so radiant face