While noises move down in the way
in your eyes the mirror plays
the past days' enlightened traces
by the magic of unknown spaces
a wriggle lash of muscularity
inebriated by youth's temerity
shines an enchanted smiling
gold lights up in soft hairs
and all your senses are piling.

But when the blade roams
onto a face white with foam
illusions are thrown by glares
staring at your reflected
where those grizzled hair flares
waving under plump fingers
you watch your unexpected...

A tumult remains in the grey
there where memories die
at the border of soul and mind
crowded with forgetful woolgathers.