I stared into the glass. The glass winked back. Caught madly in this artful surquedry, There suddenly I froze: what speaks of me This tantalizing visage, firm … yet slack!? The ill projection! Taken by the charm Of rugged imperfections, the eyes, the ears, The brows, the crooked shoulders raise alarm! The asymmetry of curves me brings to tears: The asymmetry of pungent, sundry years Of ill-bred laughter, ill-disposèd labor. The body shrieks, and yet the soul endeavors The sordid dents of memory to favor. I listened, sighed, and thus addressed my soul: *You* lecture morals – let *me* the scars patrol.