Wisps of fleecy clouds
Do not mar a summer sky
They define the blue
Gift me with crinkles
Life’s perfect imperfections
Memory’s index
Frown without retribution
Claim each earned wrinkle
Twice have I drunk from
The fountain of youth’s waters.
How long must one wait?
Crow’s feet still add depth
To the corners of my eyes,
Fine lines mark my mouth.
Fountain of youth, oh
Where is thy miracle cure?
On sabbatical?