Poems

Mirrors reflect little of light,
But nothing of shadow.
The shadow is too reclusive,
The light is too fickle,
And the mirror is too afraid.
So they all lived in the most forlorn silence,
While the most harrowing loneliness stole over them all.


The moon faced doubtful that night.
Who some distanced often,
None would fall under the weak beam now.
Nothing gleamed in the realm of moonlight then,
Secluded by weak vacillation.
None would face quite so dubiously as did the moon
On that raw, unforgiving night.