Look in thy glass and tell the face thou viewest Now is the time that face should form another, Whose fresh repair if now thou not renewest, Thou dost beguile the world, unbless some mother. For where is she so fair whose uneared womb Disdains the tillage of thy husbandry? Or who is he so fond will be the tomb Of his self-love, to stop posterity? Thou art thy mother’s glass, and she in thee Calls back the lovely April of her prime; So thou through windows of thine age shalt see, Despite of wrinkles, this thy golden time. But if thou live remembered not to be, Die single, and thine image dies with thee. -William Shakespeare
The time for another has past. Look in the mirror. Be enchanted, for you've not dimmed completely. Mama, you are not unblessed. Cultivate. Make something new with this mess. What of you is uneared; what parts call out? What buds, what green shoots through this spring of doubt, and blooms into hope? New seasons emerge slowly, and renewal is not a surge. Its magic lies in what is slow; steady, or shaky and weak; when we're not ready. Be curious about what is and what could be. Make something new with your hands. Shatter the glass that dares hold you in, girl. Look around, and then beguile the world. -Callie R. Feyen (I accidentally followed an AA/BB pattern, and not the traditional AB/AB pattern. Please grade accordingly.)
Oh, Callie, I loved this! I read it out loud and it was so fun!! Bravo!👏👏👏
I bestow extra points for incorporating "uneared."