One of my favorite poems

Weathering

My face catches the wind from the snow line

and flushes with a flush that will never wholly settle.

Well, that was a metropolitan vanity,

wanting to look young forever, to pass.

I was never a pre-Raphaelite beauty

and only pretty enough to be seen

with a man who wanted to be seen

with a passable woman.

But now that I am in love

with a place that doesn't care how I look

and if I am happy,

happy is how I look and that's all.

My hair will grow grey in any case,

my nails chip and flake,

my waist thicken,

and the years work all their usual changes.

If my face is to be weather beaten as well,
it's little enough lost for a year among the lakes and vales
where simply to look out my window at the high pass
makes me indifferent to mirrors
and to what my soul may wear
over its new complexion.

-FLEUR ADCOCK