She had an old face, It told of a life hard lived. Still she smiled And shared the joy of doing. She had a young age, Her face told another story. The days had been more Condensed in time. The earth rotated on its axis, But her life spun out of control. The sun rose and set, Tragedy exploded the limits. Her children witnessed her decay, But now she claims no signs. Her form betrays, Her version of the story. Each shriveled dry wrinkle, Holds the volumes unsaid. She believes in the victory. God sees her as a beauty. Can her words portray truth? Does her body tell a lie? The regeneration of the soul Can it be reflected in the skin? Her eyes dart around. Struggling to focus. She is so busy everyday, Hours filled can be deceptive. She talks of prayer, She does so much, She knows the Word. Hollowness surrounds her being. Does she project the image? Spirit-filled - so her story goes. The connecting lines are crossed. Did they slip off the sourc...