When I was a child, in puddles I'd beam,
Big smiles reflected in each shimmering gleam.
Joyful and bright, with laughter unplanned,
Every small ripple was magic firsthand.
Years have flown by, and the puddles remain,
But now my reflections carry life's strain.
Grins aren't as grand, yet still, they appear,
Softened by time, but still held dear.
Each ripple tells tales of sorrows and cheer,
Etching the stories of many a year.
Wrinkles may form, but the light in my eyes,
Still catches the glint of those childhood skies.
So, in the puddles, my smiles softly show,
Less frequent, but with a wiser glow.
For though time has tempered the brightness and flair,
The depth of my joy is still mirrored there.
Like ripples in a puddle, our smiles reflect the journey from youthful exuberance to seasoned wisdom, each shimmering with the stories of a life well-lived.
Read my reflections on this poem: Smiles Through the Years
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