Mirror
You think you know me?
Can tell me who I am?
Mock dry my dreams,
turn silver into grey
With your
unyielding glare?
You catch my light, yet
light belies the shade,
The chiaroscuro hid
beneath the folds.
You think you know me?
Then turn me round
and look the other way.
© Sheila Rogers March 2012
All rights reserved
No comments:
Post a Comment