There's a mirror in the mantle. , in the dust and the mould
It hangs like a poem, with a story to be told.
Now it's pitted and boned, and reflects only cracks,
By a candle that flickers , dripping tears full of wax.
A story of neglect, like some hinge full of rust,
Of words never written, of a fathers trust.
Gone in those books , with a poet on the spine,
Sleep Knights full of armour , and thrones masculine.
This mirror in the mantle, with reflections now dim,
Once looked over a family and father within.
Now it's forgotten, and waits on the wall,
To beam a reflection that covers us all.
It's pitted and boned, like a scroll by the sea,
And hangs like the Saviour still looking for me