Who is this woman, This stranger that I see? Who is this woman, Staring back at me? Where is the young girl, Who used to be there? The girl with smiling dimples, and long golden hair. Her hair once so soft, The color of autumn hay, Those once golden locks, Now faded and gray. Tiny little wrinkles, And fine little lines, Are poignant reminders Of the passing of time. Sweet innocence long gone, She has wisdom instead, Frivolities of youth, No longer fill her head. This face so familiar, Is the reflection of another, For the face that looks at me, Is the face of my mother. One day my daughter too, Will see the face that I now see. She'll look into her mirror, And she'll be seeing me. ©Carrie Robison January 18, 2002 Used With Permission All Rights Reserved By Author Website Mail