Flesh,

in colors of snow,

sand and bark,

covering up what otherwise

might be a vision of disgust

Scars,

upon the flesh bestowed,

for some are deep while others shallow,

some are seen while others hidden,

but all once hurt the same

Wrinkles,

known as a sign of age,

for they often show

what one has lived and surpassed,

be either frustration or despair,

a lost pain in the past

For flesh is an extrordinary thing

by the simple fact of is existence,

the ardous job of covering,

and showing our resistance