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
The Echos of the past and the journeys I would walk.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem