I sit alone staring through a frame,
At a face staring back who himself has the same name,
And although right now he is me, and I know it's true,
One day he'll be a face, that once upon a time I knew.

He is a boy on the precipice of becoming a man,
He is doubtful he will become the man he thinks he can,
His eyes, though small are young and relatively new,
Have gone greyer now from when they were once bright blue.

The frame which holds this face he is now growing into,
Is still rounded in its whole, like his previous self he knew,
His hair is long, but not as long as it was before,
(Though he likes it shorter and thinks nevermore, he knows it won't be short forevermore),
But at present it nearly hides the ears on both sides, long at the back and wavy at the fore.
His brow is heavy and his forehead wrinkled before it's time,
More of his head is shown by his retreating hairline of mine,
(What battle does it retreat from, could I not avoid this crime?).

His lips though fat are small and pink, like his pudgy rounded nose that sits,
Above those lips, beneath those eyes of his with dark circles within their mitts,
His cheeks are big, as are his hips and waist,
His big round head, has a somewhat a solemn sunken face.

To return back to previous mention where,
Mentioned was his hair,
It is darker now from when it was blonde and bright,
Does it darken with ones soul, one wonders if it might.

All and all I believe this faith still holds some hope,
Not as much as once held, he is now somewhat more of a misanthrope,
But although his eyes seem sorrowful and sad,
I believe faces from future frames will be more glad.

And to this face I see now and know
I bid farewell as I turn to go
To leave and remove this frame from view
I say my final goodbye, to this face that I once knew.