I stare at you and you stare at me,
That picture of me before,
You looked so young in your pedigree
Before we both went to war,
But life has left its mark on the face
That was captured, back in time,
And now there’s little left of your grace,
There’s nothing that’s left of mine.

For you’re a constant reminder of
The man that I thought was fine,
I look in awe at your forehead where
There isn’t a single line,
Not one of the cracks and crevices
That now will litter my brow,
I wonder how you would feel, if you
Were able to see me now?

If only I had been painted like
The Picture of Dorian Gray,
Then you would possibly look like me
And I’d be like you today,
My faults and pleasures you’d never know
Except on your painted face,
And you would never be put on show,
While I would retain your grace.

But time and life are a cruel pair,
For age to them is a joke,
They both conspire to grey your hair
From the time you enter their yoke,
They run their tractors over your face
Emasculate skin and bone,
And when you look, there isn’t a trace
Whatever you were, has flown.

No sweet young thing will look at you now,
If so, she’s telling you lies,
The only sign of the love you’ve known
Will still reside in your eyes,
And so you look at your lady now
Who stuck by you, thick and thin,
And praise the Lord that she’s aged like you,
As you’re falling in love again.

David Lewis Paget