Illusions

Caught within the bowl of the pond,

Cradled in the branches of an elm,

A swollen, golden moon.

Narcissus-like, I reach –

The water ripples,

Reflections shiver, melt, are gone.

So, sometimes, in the soft evening light,

My mirror yields a glimpse:

A girl, before life’s chances, choices,

Painted her firm.

© Gill Dunstan

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