Mirrors spy on the eyes,
drawing them to the vortices of
reflection; celebrating the good,
condemning the faults.
Each glance a smile or frown,
changing the weather of
the heart into storms or sun;
the soul of self, shoulders up
to the day.
Like the surety of high winds
aloft the image we see is set;
mercy finds little hope where
time prevails.
Roger Singer 