Mirror
When I was a child, I used to stand
With a broken mirror in my hand,
And watch my laughing image pass
In and out of the shining glass.
It seemed mysterious and strange
To watch the bright, clear surface change,
And behold within a tiny space
A perfect portrait of my face.
If I could hold it here once more,
And look into it as before,
I wonder if I still would see
A faint resemblance of Me?
