The mirror begins to show me lines
around my lips and across my brow
but I shall not mind their steady growth
so long as they are mostly wonder
with compassion mixed, and joy writ bold
’til by God’s grace an agéd man
I wear deep these marks of life well-lived:
not scars, but prizes, fought hard and won
and full of hope for others after
(who may likewise four-score years do good)
and bright countenance bear to that end
which but another beginning be.