The looking glass

The deep green
       of woodland ivy
       of life and death
and the holly
       rich with red
winter berries
       and mistletoe
with its plump
       unctuous fruit
such significance
       within a universe
so alive with death
       as though each
were interchangeable
       in the glass

Her lips now pale
       with age
her song now silent
       now a thing
of the past
       We are voice
and we are memory
       but our voices
grow silent over time
       and our memories
fade beyond the sunset
       Love for today
for tomorrow
       it may be gone

John Lyons


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