The spectacular woods deliberately tinged fresh green,
The majestic falls offered beats for birds’ songs.
The kaleidoscopic streaks replaced the fear of unseen
And the crimson, besides itself, could deepen only the dawn.
Oh! I’m not exhaling and inhaling in impressive ways.
Whoa! The sun is well above the horizon;
Did it display the marvelling work of the first rays
Like they say, which, here, makes special the dawn?
Did I miss something for which I trod all the way alone,
Which, while I focussed on stains over a beautiful painting,
Had gone?
Beware! When you go before a looking glass.
“ Oh! But why? What does it take to?”
Know— Can you afford a chance?
It can build but also break you.
Through she a looking glass, I saw flaws
In my till then beautiful face.
Immaterial is the number of days has passed
since then, unblurred, still, is the image.
Like the continuous roaring wind that,
To its own accord, does the deserts shape
Or the sailor, whose ear heard some solitary vows,
Which he himself hissed out after a sharp intake,
This spirit to be on the battlefield constantly has never withered–
For, when on some part of this voyage,
For matching my plod, down a looking glass slows,
Should never to these eyes, it show, any blemish,
Should always the superbness of her object keep her close.
Grey
