Mirror, mirror ... on the wall

Who's the fairest one of all?

Is it the one who's sharing?

Or is those who are daring



To live so many pretenses

Becoming other fences ...?

Some they sit upon, wavering

Glued to its points, belaboring



Holding nothing but their swords

Cutting left and right, making sore

Emptying the bin filled with good

Souring a presence, making wood



Rotted now, only good for fuel ...

And even that's quite debatable

For wood too far gone won't burn

All it does is crumble apart and turn



- Tristram



(c) Christopher W. Thomas

8:33am Monday, April 27th, 1998