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Wrinkles
 



With coming years, the glow of youth doth fade,
mirth intervenes to soften lines of age
and keep at bay the scalpel's wicked blade.
Laughter becomes a buffer to assuage.
Let then a smile become your beauty trick,
old, just a term describing state of mind.
Wrinkles don't signify a walking stick.
Come, laugh, reveal the beauty God designed.





Quote: William Shakespeare.

By cherryk

© 2017 cherryk (All rights reserved)

 

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This Poem is part of a Challenge: - The WORD PAINTING Challenge with Myrna D./Kajuncutie (Myrna) read page for rules and info (challenge has been closed)


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