This Mirror Of The Past Poem by Wanda Dee Sullman

Oh, brass framed mirror, how did you after all these
Years, manage to still look so fine.
Not a scratch, or a crack, after two hundred years of time.

How many people did you see fixing their hair just right.
and how many people passed you, in the middle of the night.

You old mirror, the stories you could tell me, if only you
could talk.
The Echos of the past and the journeys I would walk.

I wish that I could go back in time and see what you have seen.
All I can do is wonder, as I stare at you and dream.

As I sit here in front of you in this old wooden chair.
I can sense a presence, as I feel a brush of cold air.

Could this be a Spirit, that lived here at one time.
Maybe it's your owner that stays and keeps your shine.

It's strange how everything is all covered in webs and dust.
Except you that looks so new, as everything else is rust.

You must have been a special gift, for someone that was loved.
that someone may still be here or with our God above.