The Skull
By vithano
What thing skull-like stares back at me Out of the mirror when I am least watchful, Grinning horribly? I never see it On the glass of windows in a fine house Lit by the candles of a feast, nor the specular Glasses that circulate there. On the road To diverse places of pomp and popery Are surfaces enough to catch the human form And bid us see; but even there the skull Never grins. But when my lady Watchful by the window waits, and I come softly Behind her, I see first her face in the glass, then mine: Death oblivious to death’s approach, And I dare not tarry to watch them kiss. Written February 28th, 2002 © on Feb 27 2002 10:01 PM PST 10 • 0
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"What thing skull-like stares back at me..."