Old Nursery

In the tired face of the mirror There is a blue curtain reflected. If I could lift the reflection, Peer a little beyond, I would see A boy crying Because his sister is ill in another room And he has no one to play with: A boy listlessly scattering building blocks, And crying, Because no one will build for him the palace of Fairy Morgana. I cannot lift the curtain: It is stiff and frozen.