The mirror |
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| 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 |
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