Wishes of vanity, he seems to say,
Won’t be fulfilled. The tilted mirror’s ray
Reveals something akin to human clay —
A woman whose beauty has seen its day —
But what she sees is young, pretty, and gay,
The famous star of a popular play.
Perhaps the silvered glass begins to fray,
Or fractured light has lost the will to stay
The hours’, the minutes’, the seconds’ decay.
The end of her last day begins today
(Though she might be granted a day’s delay).
It’s a painting! An imagined display!
The woman is still a blossom in May,
Nor would anyone dare wish her away.
My book of the first 200 of these sonnets is now available for purchase. Click here:
