There comes a time in a woman’s life
Where her skin isn’t as it once was
Wrinkles crawl in, marking every moment of strife
I was told one day women become invisible
Never to be looked at, touched, whispered to the same.
Where do we go? What becomes of us?
Innocence stripped away, ourselves we only blame.
I look now at this skin of mine
Soft, tender, gentle as warm still water
Everyday slipping through my fingers
Time laughs, “now I’ve got her.”
Wrinkle me daily, slowly. Be it fate.
They know the grief of life, all that we lose.
Only to grasp true meaning
That this is the life our soul does choose.