Mirror, mirror
On the wall
Hard to show
My face at all,
You make it seem
Like it was mauled …
Mirror, nearer
Your torment,
Can have me cry
And looking bent,
Instead of shy
Of seeming spry
As I had meant…
Mirror, closer
You discuss,
A weathered face
Made hopeless case,
As craggy crust,
Shows in its place…
Mirror, mirror
You violator
Of melancholy state,
Alas to so deface
What shan’t be salved
Thru your efface,
Or torturous onguent
Inflicts a malfeasant!
written in Grasse Fr.
© Jean-Jacques Fournier
Poetry on a canapé 
“Of seeming spry As I had meant…” So moving, JJ.
When I wrote this I was exploring as in trying to peek into future feelings, mine I suppose, about what was to come and that had already started, if but to imagine the feelings all humans must face eventually. Nature’s proof of control over all living things, whether we realize it or refuse to accept it, makes no difference. C’est la vie, ma chérie! Jean-Jacques Fournier
haha, OK, so it’s not now. I shall henceforth think of you as spry for at least the next 20 years. I’ll check in again at the end of 20 years to see if nature has surprised you yet.
OK! It’s a date… Though I do hope I hear from you again before 20 years, for that blink of an eye period seems a long blink wait for an update. Jean-Jacques Fournier