The light in your eyes
reveals what you see
when you walk with the poor and the weak.

You see through their skin
to their beauty within
and you bless with the comforts you speak.

How do you know what to say?
How do you love with such grace?
How do you know of the weights in their hearts
when their wrinkles resemble fine lace?

The lines on a face
both whisper and tell,
one's story is worn as a token.

They spell who one is
where one's been and is now,
though never a word is once spoken.

Some of the furrows are deep.
Some are the faintest of lines.
All of the secrets one tries hard to hide
are written in script by design.