The Face of Time

I think that time should have to tell
Its secrets and its woes.
A face’s grace will mostly lie
In traces of the blows
Struck gently on its youthful brow–
Minutely, one by one,
As pine shats whip the comely earth
To signal summer’s done.
But pine shats form a springy mat:
Inviting counterpane–
Cushion for a lover’s arch–
Accumulated gain.