Mirror, mirror on the table.
I crane my stem so I can see,
my lovely petals, soft as sable
is there beauty more than me?
Time torments me with its pace.
I sit and watch the clock.
I search about its evil face,
and listen to it tock.
The rhythmic noises that it makes
will put me into shock,
if slow the measure that it takes,
this tyrant boorish clock.
It is a game, much like a race.
My legs are giant rocks,
with every labored step erased,
I wish that it would stop.
Such is the tyrant, in thy place.
It keeps me in a lock
and shackles me as labored slaves,
pretending that it’s not.
So let me end this little tale,
like pigs it has a twist.
I’ve fallen of the ridged rail,
the train of which I’ve missed.