Your eye fresh from the mirror
   in your mind,
you speak of a growing old,
complaining that beauty
   is flying from you.
Sensing that contradiction
   is not wanted,
but sympathy, I hold my tongue
and do not speak the vision
   of my heart,
which, seeing aright, sees only
   your beauty.
For me, no other will ever be
   as beautiful as you,
nor will such beauty ever fade

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© 1990 Steven E. Callihan

URL: http://www.callihan.com/