The Stranger

I could not place
the lady who stared back.
In vain I sought to recognise her face.
I wracked my brain,
but all to no avail.
Her countenance was creased
her hair matt grey
limp clothes hung
on a frail, stooped form
framed in an autumn mist.
I looked at her with wistful sigh,
knowing that the mirror doesn’t lie.