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Faded glory, youth is gone,
eyes are wrinkled, face is drawn.
Beauty lingers deep within
a soul's last refuge, free of pain.
Lines of innocence do not appear,
only knowledge of passing years.
And so the flesh becomes a chart
tracing the soul's passionate art.
Beneath this canvas we all peer out
with opening-night jitters, certain doubt,
awaiting the patron who makes us whole
revealing the painting of our soul.
Copyright © 2009 by Karl W. Swartz. All rights reserved.