Atrophy

She'd had her round in Life's blighting furnace, Where stealthy wear and age blurred her face. Dents shot where dreamy dimples had grown, Lightning smiles usurped by involuntary frown. In her livelier turns by Midas' glowing shores, She galloped and gleamed like grated brass. Time’s grim cankers fell on the rarefied feast Of the cutest eye ever cast on envious glass. If as a reincarnated phoenix's her gone grin Could twirl and morph into its erstwhile arc, She’d anon repulse her timing nemesis’ sin, And give her faded glories an eternal spark. Bereft of that fairy fowl's sheen-saving magic, She’d to inevitably brave decay's stoic scythe. Merry rhyme sung her sweet charms to mimic Faded to ethers wherein dead beauties writhe. No looker who her earth-blemished visage espies, Can know she was the fairest star in kindlier skies.