- - - - - -
I smiled in the mirror this morning,
She gestured back with grace,
Aged with freckled chrome,
She is my confidant and friend.
She speaks of mothers adages,
Silver haired and plumed,
Carded of fine porcelain forged of brittle bone.
As any old crone wrinkled well,
Dowered with provincial adverbs,
She sheds light of ages past,
Notorious of disbelief.
This morning is different,
For the musk of morning dew,
Speaks plenitude in this confessional,
Free of reigns and solitude.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem