The old lady gazes, into the mirror of time,
Back to times of those old nursery rhymes,
To being a child, threading chains of daisies,
It´s still all so clear & yet, it appears
so hazy.
The old lady goes back, to being maid &
lover,
Back to babes in her arms & playing the
mother,
To the Clara Bow lips, painted scarlet &
bee-stung,
It´s still all so vivid & yet, lost in songs
past sung.
The old lady looks now, at her fading reflection,
Back to yesterdays, & without further inspection,
Turning her back to the mirror & her notion
of time,
Singing with her Mama, her favourite nursery
rhymes.
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