The hues of nature you have robbed in vain,
Filched too, the painted pastels of your eyes,
False beauty’s tints cannot here hide your pain,
Nor yet the evil that your heart belies.
Rouge powdered cheeks—the rose’s stolen bloom,
Your gilded flaxen hair, poached from the sun,
A visage drawn from out night’s purse of gloom—
Bold lipstick stains leave paramours undone.
But Siren colors washed with light of day,
Will run like dye in heaven’s weeping tears,
Exposing thus your harlequin display,
Made starker by the honest march of years.
You lived a life of sordid pantomime;
To such a farce, the greatest judge is Time.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.