REFLECTIONS

At first morning’s creeping gray
    As slips away the night,
Faint shadows arch from windowsills
    And beacon to my sight.
My reflection on the windowpanes
    Reveal the crags and signs
As maps of old may cross and turn
    Innumerable times.

By passing glance, escapes the light
    That I wish were not there
But still a-peeping now and then
    Through long, gray, swaying hair
I see the eyes that, staring back,
    Betray a soul apart
And offer no apology
    For such a cryptic heart.

Now and then I dance a tune
    And dolefully I bow
Before the sires of prejudice
    And allegiance vow
But deep within that mirrored glass
    Their lives a secret self
That sometimes smiles contentedly
    At such secreted wealth.

~Robert E Browne~