THE MIRROR

​

Late sunshine after a day of constant steady rain

peaks out to find a choir of old oaks facing west.

They have seen wars, famines, disease,

cartloads of bodies passing in rutted tracks,

and seem to gaze benignly towards the horizon.

 

The wind through high branches whispers

a eulogy from long-forgotten ancestors.

If you listen carefully you will glean these words.

You are now where we were, your children will also be,

the answer is looking at you in the mirror.