Wrinkles

I don’t spend a lot of time in
Front of mirrors so I seldom
Notice any subtle changes
Written upon cheek or brow.
Time digs deep upon its canvas
Painting furrows line to line.
Signs of wisdom, silent witness
Tended with a painless plough.
You won’t find me bent with caring
Wrought with anguish,
Quashed with woe,
Fearing for the reaper’s harvest,
Knowing that the end must come.
Every ending has a new beginning
In the next dimension.
Every step is one step closer to
Rekindling nature’s womb.

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