At the beginning there was but one man, who lacked a face.
He was willing to travel the world thrice over to find one.
But as he traveled he slowly aged.
While time’s cruel coin
Would not but pay the fine.
Eternal youth for a man who had no face to wrinkle is not so bad.
But all the same the man wanted to find one for his very own.
He was wise beyond the nonexistent lines that paved his face
Much like the streets he did but walk
Only twice the world over.
For he never reached the third bend.
One, two but never three.
He sat on rocks of ever folding words
Exhausted from walking the length of the world.
But his time had come even if none could see it.
Time refused to let him search any longer.
It would not wait for him.
And even as he offered his coins,
His own reasons he did recall,
with change clinking in his pocket,
The coins he bared within his marble fists
Of hidden wrinkles would not suffice.
And so Time then took his frail soul.