No– shadows do not love the angles of your face. Reflection in a cage; the mirror— enemy in atmosphere of age, no.. shadows do not love the smoother skin of youth. Your worries; furrow wears, a trench where troops retreat, —accumulated years. No! shadows do not love mascara and soft light; distracts from sense of time and wishes drowned in wells… damn clock’s incessant chime— no, shadows do not love the wrinkles and the lines. They etch your map their ink; topography of life where sun o’er valleys sink.