Lines

In roses bloomed the unspoiled youth
upon my cheeks before each line
writ themselves as broken truths
which saw the petals fell with time
and have the seasons now revealed
their histories carved deep like stone
memorials, in my face appeal
to those regrets I daren’t atone.
And so the glass I do regard
not with sadness, nor with cheer
that from that early blush I’m spared
and revel now as fits my years.

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