To My Mirror

I seldom deal with you unless I must. You’ve changed—I mean I’ve changed—with passing years. You’re harsh; you have no choice. You’re always just, conveying truths revealed through smiles or tears. A glimpse of my young self I sometimes see— a welcome gleam of mischief in the eyes, a sudden flash of dark brown hair, gray-free, or of my youthful shape, a pleasing size. You won’t let me ignore the march of time; but, thanks to you, I vow that every day I’ll work more with my muse. It’s in its prime. Time’s of the essence. I have much to say. February 14, 2019, entered in Brian Strand's February, Week 3, Contest