You see a face,
Weathered, showing the wear of time,
Wrinkles carved like dry rivers
Affixing character to a once youthful landscape.
Soft skin hands, wipe the sweat from the brow,
Long since retired from hard work,
Thin and gnarled,
They are more bone than flesh,
Still their past loveliness remains.
Hunched, from the years
And back breaking work
It’s a struggle just to stand up,
Yet there is nary a complaint uttered
Thankful just to have lived.
“Come with me”, said in whispered tone,
Taking a frail trembling arm in compliance,
Photographs yellowed, faded show glorious youth,
Beauty, fifty years past gleams brightly in your eyes
Though the blue is less brilliant.
“This was me”, as if unrecognizable
Pointing with an arthritic finger
Leading to story upon story.
“You see a face…”, spoken with a smile,
“But I am so much more…”
~~ Dominic R. DiFrancesco ~~