Beauty Before a Mirror
There is a mirror on the wall,
smooth and seven feet tall,
where she saw her own face
In a merry wedding day
and her mother’s necklace.
Still as Canova’s Terpsichore,
she couldn’t hold anymore,
the wind moved her around,
like a cloud in a sunny day,
with a long whistling sound.
Her feet glided over the land,
she dissolved like cotton candy
escaping from a tight embrace,
she wanted freedom that day
to beam with maiden’s grace.
Beauty is content like a child,
who found a rose in the wild
underneath a verdant tree,
blossoming in a spring’s day
and said: “This rose is me?”
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