My Picture

Etching away at my life
Trying to make
My picture turn out
as perfect
as it
can be.
But while I work
I seem to ignore
The beauty my picture
Already Stores.
And as I fix that
Last little line
I scrape out not knowing
That one perfect time.
If only I could
Step back and admire
But my hand permanently etches
Until maybe
I'll retire.