Life's Imprint: A Scriptural Tribute to the Cutaneous Covering

Alas, fair flesh, what tales dost thou conceal
Within thy folds, what mysteries untold?
Oh human skin, thou art the very seal
That keeps our secrets safe from prying eyes,
And yet, thou art the canvas for our pain,
The record-book of life, the mark of age.

Age and pain, what cruel master art thou,
That maketh our fair flesh to wither and die,
And leaves behind a legacy untold?
Of wrinkles and lines, of scars and stains,
A tale of our life, a record of strife,
A map of our journey, a mark of the age.

The age, how doth it ravage our skin,
And take away its luster and its hue,
And make it dull, and rough, and thin,
A shadow of what once it used to be,
A proof of our mortality, a sign
That we must yield to time, the cruelest of strains.

The strains of life, they are not always kind,
And they leave their marks upon our skin,
Of battles fought, of wounds left behind,
Of laughter and tears, of joy and pain,
And all the memories that time doth retain,
A record of our lives, a testament of age.

The age, it cometh for us all in time,
And we must face it with a brave and bold strain,
For it will claim our skin, and leave it blind,
And lifeless, like a withered rose that dies,
And all that's left, is a tale untold,
A record of our life, a mark of our age.

Oh human skin, thou art the very page
That tells the story of our mortal coil,
A tale of life, a record of our age,
A mark of pain, and scars that time doth hold,
And though it may seem cruel, the tale untold
Is still a testament to our spirit's strain.

And so, we face the strains of life and age,
With courage and grace, and a steadfast bold,
And hold our heads high, as we turn the page,
And leave behind our legacy untold,
A record of our life, a mark upon our skin,
A testament to time, and to the great unknown.