Her old face was wrinkled and disgusting
I did not hear a word she was telling me
Because she had a crumb hanging onto her lip
Waiting to be blown onto my face

However something about her intrigued me
Like a troll that was holding a flower
There is nothing beautiful about a troll holding a flower
Nonetheless I would be interested in why he was holding it

Three days later I thought back to that wrinkled old lady
And what I saw in my mind was quite disturbing
Her face was a marbled statue
Her wrinkles, which originally signified ugliness,
Now only added character and wisdom

I could not even see the crumb of food on her lip
To this day I carry her in my mind
And will one day paint her beautiful wrinkles
On a sidewalk in heaven
While Jesus and everyone else gather around
To watch me paint