You apply lavish cream for skin that's a dream,
The kind you will find in a chic magazine.
And then there's your hair, lustrous and fair;
Each tress screams finesse under rigorous care.
Your physique's at its peak; honed, toned and sleek -
In the wake of your beauty beholders go weak.
You preen and you prance and at each given chance
You applaud your reflection with a laudable glance.
So what will you do when the mirror tells you
That the ripe fruits of youth have been wiped from its view,
When the etchings of time sketch many a line
On the peach of each cheek - mortality's sign?
Will your days just cave in when the grave mirror sees
What starts at your chin departs to your knees,
That your crown of self-worth has blown off in the breeze -
There's no truth in beauty - just your duty to please?
At this stage an old sage simply ought to define
That it's best to invest in one's spirit and mind;
Wisdom’s a gift that will lift up the soul -
The balance of nature that makes one's life whole.
Yet, the truth is if youth was on offer again,
I'd crave and I'd savour the flavour of sin.
I'd kick up my heels, I'd pick up a glass
And guzzle on booze 'til my shoes felt the blast.
I'd party and swing in this season's “in” thing,
I'd be lewd and tattooed and sparkling in bling.
I'd seek fortune and fame in a top TV game;
Should shame yell my name - hell, I won't be to blame!
Oh, to be young! I'd brew fun on this spot -
I'd hurl yesterday's caution into history's pot;
I'd fuel each desire with fire 'til ecstatic -
A portrait of Dorianne Gray in my attic!