Queen Oneeightytwo

I am but a mirror
and your reflection empty
I am standing here
with all that you gave me

If sounds of silence
tickle your ear
Then what you give
is what you hear

If cold runs down
along your back
Then perhaps pure cold
will make you retract

If what you see
is an empty stare
The you have placed
nothing there

For I am but
a reflection of you
I give back
what you gave me to

And Blessed Be whence
this poem did end
My phone did ring
And it was you my friend


(CSS061711)