I've reached the age of three score years and ten
And ever thought myself one unit "I"
Uniquely separate from all other men,
But now in my old age I wonder why;

For when I look into the mirror, thin
I see my face, not face but uniform,
And wonder then what hides behind the skin
Of consciousness that makes me fit the norm.

I do not know just what I am down deep.
As boy I aped my peers in deed and word;
A calf that's raised with sheep will flock with sheep
Nor ever join its kindred in a herd.

How can I know beyond the things I feel
What part of me is fake, what part is real?

Other Borealis Press titles by Fred Cogswell: