Faces, we all have one. A scar from a long ago ooopsies with a shattered window tis on me chin. Never felt a thing til I held the mitt to me face and withdrawing saw red and the expression on sissiepoos face. Racing inside I looked for the gleaming toaster and sighed at the site reflected. I will never forget the tugging of the thread and piercing of the needle while the good Doctor sewed me up.
O those wrinkles, begone! I say but I know they be a sign of life, living well. So many ads whisper to our vanity, though the models of "firm skin" are all of 18 if that. Hah! What do they know of toiling outside in the heat and sun. They never will for the warnings were never known in our time.
The lines under me eyes when I smile show I laugh from the heart. They are smiling lines not wrinkles. Wrinkles are a sign of frowning not singing besides who wants to be remembered by their impressions unless you won Queen of The Furrow at the County Faire or heavens, to look like Cher. Beautiful she is but there is no expression. Her face is dead, frozen in time.
Tis my belief eyes tell all. Sit still and gaze into the eyes of your loved one. After awhile do they not cast downward shyly and re-open with a sparkle? Laughter soon follows, with a knowing uh hunh. Makes one feel giddy it does.
They say to touch ones face is the most gentlest touch of all. Feel every line imagining the stories behind them, gently feeling the past, and to feel today, the future.
We all have faces, those we put on smiling when we're really pissed off not wanting to hurt another, those we have when in pain not wanting others to know and feel sorry, those we show just waiting for someone to say "yah but".