rubs dreams from tired eyes
and rises, staring into the mirror.
Many who walked within these walls have perished
yet the mirror remains unchanged
unlike those who gaze into its soul.
The silver mirror tells only the truth
burying a child and a truculent youth
and now an ageing visitor appears,
bags under eyes and wrinkled brow.
It reflects different curtains now
but the ancient oak tree still stands
as he reminisces about those
who have peered into its honest face
and the silver mirror does not disguise
the sorrow etched in his world-weary eyes.