Another year, another book,
Another face to match,
The likeness of which once I wore,
And someone sought to catch.

Caught in her camera's aperture,
It moved to film, to print,
To pixels, and on paper now
Must labor for a stint.

The masks of past appearance I
Appear to never tire
Of bringing forth before your eye,
Like horses put to hire.

Begrudge me not, I plead, nor set
Your spirit in a rage
Should my affront your sight beset,
But simply turn the page.