Youthful Stranger


And while at the mirror to comb my hair,
Surprised me to find an aging stranger there,
The eyes were familiar, as I dared to stare;
I found the stranger within the reflection,
Was an aging, silent matron, of which to reckon,
Confused, though intrigued, I chose to invoke a blessing;
Feathered lines drawn at the crease of fair eyes,
Inspired, I wondered, from smiles or great cries?
Rounded face did reflect many years swiftly gone by;
Drawn into her soul I, myself, became a wee bit of a girl,
Within green fields of a bright summer flowered world,
And aglow was she, as if the sun, whilst to dance and twirl;

Deeper dwelling within the grace and freedom of this child,
Whose expressive fair eyes were dancing with smiles,
Refreshed with sweet innocence did I dwell a good while;
Knee deep she did freely jump into a rippling creek,
The cool, sparkling water compelled one to deeply drink,
With the sun filtering through the great canopy of trees;
Suddenly, I found myself upon a bough of a grand oak,
My heart beat so wild and free, as if a musical note,
Above the confines of the earth, I began to effortlessly float;
And then, when the clock at the end of the long, shadowed hall,
Began to strike the hour of summer coming to late fall,
I found the mirrored stranger's reflection was, me, after all.

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