No, though your brow be knitted in a line,
Your smile gone, your voice pitched to a whine,
Your shoulders hunched into an angry vee;
I still see you, and know substantially
That you will find a way to make it fine,
And this is just the bare external sign
Of stress, which will be dealt with actively.
I do not mean that time could not, with age
Wrinkle your face with something more than stress;
But even then I, having seen the page
And seen the lines writ there, would simply bless
The time we had together, and the years
That wrote those lines, in laughter moved to tears.
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