He looked into the mirror and the image that he saw,
Was not the man he thought to see but one he knew before?
Reflected in the mirror, for a moment passing slow,
He saw his father’s figure from a time so long ago.
Father gone was smiling through the young man’s looking glass,
His thoughts were telling of the things that surely come to pass.
The image wavered year to year, it knew both young and old,
The mirror told its story and its story would be told,
The image that the young man saw, his father too when young,
Was in the clear spring water from the well where youth had sprung.
And in that image he could see the man he had become,
He saw his father once again before his time begun.
Look into the mirror and the image that you see,
Is sure to be your father, when he was young and free.
Look into the windows of your father’s soul, his heart,
Go inside and rest awhile before again you part,
The mirror is a telling place, reflecting not your thoughtful face,
If you would see your father past, then look into your looking glass.
Michael (Walsh) © 05.06.13