One side is animated, one deadpan;
One brow lifts up in question or surprise;
The other gives no clue of mood or plan;
One lip side smiles; the other side won’t rise.
One eye can wink; the other blandly stares;
One ear still wiggles when I bid it to;
The other one seems needy of repairs,
And nothing on that side responds to cue.
It’s not the stroke it seemed, my doc proclaims,
But something called Bell’s Palsy, which will pass,
A virus that good medication tames,
Which meanwhile makes a frightful looking glass.
And yet I’d rather face my startling mirror
Than wrestle with that other dreadful terror.