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The Eye of the Beholder

She’s getting more decrepit, by degrees. Her heart is threatening to go on strike, with kidneys out in sympathy. She’s like a mole without her glasses, and the knees, now varicose, resemble Stilton cheese. Her mouth works like an oxygen-starved pike each time she reads. A portrait by Van Dyck would show more movement in its eyes than these. But when I look at her, I see the girl, the one I met that first time in the square, bandana loosely swathing careless curls, the little smile that made me stop and stare. To me, she’s always lovely, always new: for things there are that Time can not undo.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2017




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Date: 2/21/2017 11:08:00 AM
A beautiful tribute without judgment, the world needs more of you Michael. The heart which flows the waterfall....
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Michael Coy
Date: 2/24/2017 8:44:00 AM
That's a mighty compliment, Keith. Thank you!
Date: 2/18/2017 10:07:00 AM
I love this sonnet, Michael. Well done!
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Michael Coy
Date: 2/18/2017 4:25:00 PM
Daniel, thank you so much! I appreciate your encouragement.
Date: 2/18/2017 9:35:00 AM
Aww, this is beautiful. I hope that one day someone will look at me with eyes that remember who I once was...
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Michael Coy
Date: 2/18/2017 4:25:00 PM
My partner is not as hideous as described in the poem, but I definitely see her as she was, not as she is. That's love, I guess!
Date: 2/18/2017 7:53:00 AM
Beautiful Michael, the way we remember is important; keep her young in your heart and she will always be there.
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Michael Coy
Date: 2/18/2017 8:13:00 AM
Delightful words, Phil. I'm grateful.