One Sunday on a lazy afternoon

Was Ironing a shirt

For there was nothing, else to do

As I moved the press casually across

Saw wrinkles disappear in a flash

Nothing new, been watching the same

For years, since I have learned to press

Yet the way the cloth, smooth it left

With a single move, across the surface

Left me wondering

Could it do the same

To the wrinkles that life

Had gathered over years