In fissured countenance
Bleak, staring eyes
Heedless of the wormy hands a'crawl
Upon the desert counterpane.
Yet love can stroke the fissured brow,
Love can kiss the staring eyes,
Love can hold the care-worn hands
And love can see and understand and love.
Mill Field
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/gen-age/
