At last the kids are gone now for the day.

She reaches for the coffee as the school bus pulls away.

Another day to tend the hous and plan

For Friday at the Legion when she's dancing with her man.



Sure was a bitter winter but Friday will be fine,

And maybe last year's Easter dress will serve her one more time.

She'd pass for twenty-nine but for her eyes.

But winter lines are telling wicked lies.



All lies.

All those lines are telling wicked lies.

Lies all lies.

Too many lines there in that face;

Too many to erase or disguise;

They must be telling lies.



Is this the face that won for her the man

Whose amazed and clumsy fingers put that ring upon her hand?

No need to search that mirror for the years.

The menace in their message shouts across the blur of tears.



So this is Beauty's finish. Like Rodin's