So I look like Wilfred Brimley,
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It seems that I am told.
Well, I guess it doesn't matter much
As I am growing rather old.
When young and full of vanity
My mirror was my best friend.
Each blemish and strand of hair
Took hours without end.
Youth must give sway to latter years
Which creep up unawares.
with bounteous giftsof foils and snares
That cast silver in my hair.
The lines around my mouth and eyes
Are merits of my care.
sleepless nights and countless chores
Are any mother's fare.
My flawlessskin was once my pride
My burnished hair my prize.
There are but fleeting things
I finally realize.
So I look like Wilfred Brimley.
A sigh escapes my lips.
Its time to pluck my chin hairs
And jog inches from my hips.