Change is slow; transparent, too:
I search the mirror, hope to see
A woman arrayed in it, who
Has closed the gap with perfect me.
Instead I sigh; the robes are mine.
They stink with effort, use and time
Spent moving one foot 'fore its twin:
A public farce of graceful climb.
I am shamed; I turn away.
The clock, a silent mockery
Of yet another wasted day
Ensnared in change's trickery.
Change is slow; it's quiet, too:
My image, fixed on heart of stone,
Did change with mirror out of view.
I knew not 'till you said, "You've grown."