Hidden Rose

Short musing of lost time and uglies.

Finding beauty late in life
Has been a burden of joy
Seeing desire in the eyes of a man
Instead of the wish of a boy

To be friends with my mirror
After aversion and hate
Years spent struggling and straining
Or just resigned to fate

They say I am a late bloomer
And it's true, I suppose
No one but me seems to see
The wrinkles upon this rose

But now they call me beautiful
Outside, as well as in
How I long for the years wasted
With beauty beneath the skin