As I gaze into a looking glass,
I see an alternate reality
into which I cannot pass.
Upon occasion the images delight,
but also bitterly disappoint;
they may dreamily linger or abscond all sight.
This window of vision
may be candied, lay static,
or be alive in placid pulsations.
While one may reflect a tangible scene,
two will curiously reveal
an eternity blue and pristine.
This precious looking glass I see,
is elaborately encrusted in
a silver frame ornately carved.
'One of my dear three, '
on the handle reads an inscription,
'my industrious Emily.'
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Wonderful story with vivid imagery You have a grand way of descibing things.