In days from now

In days from now my hands will be leather
My lips chapped and sharp like spun glass
My eyes shriveled and wrinkled as an old mans fingerprints
My mouth dry as your retorts
And it will be too late and I will be too tired and too hopeless to cry for what might have been

Or 

In days from now my hands will be rougher from plowing and tinkering
My lips dry from objecting and demanding
My eyes wide and clear as a Wednesday morning
My lips as thin and furrowed as her brow
And it will be late and I will be tired and busy but I will be able to gaze out on what we have salvaged