With half an eye to a handsome face…
Rugged, smooth or touched with grace…
Or a pretty dress I’d love to wear,
A pair of heels, a style of hair…
I’m seventeen, or twenty three…
Or would have been
Were I still there.
With jaded eye I read the news
Of wars, and ecomonic blues;
Initiatives that come too late
To halt the conflict, stop the hate;
I’ve seen it all…The cyclic fear
That dogs our footsteps every year.
I’m ninety-two…a century…
Or might have been
Or soon will be.
Eyes of a child look out of mine,
And see the lover pour the wine,
And see the hand that takes the glass
All ages as the moments pass.
Alight with laughter, washed by tears,
A childlike gaze ignores the years
And wears her heart upon her sleeve,
And still, the unrepentant Eve
Looks out upon a changing world
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