The musing of the jilted mirror continues:
I am placed now at where I should not be
amidst the flowers and the bees
I watch the blue sky from the high rise crevice
and brave the fickle onslaught of the off-season menace
of strong winds and storms that I dread to see
but most of all I am offended by this marvel:
a flower which is not a flower
tied by cloth to the trunk as substitute
for the real buds nipped by famine birds from destitute
city where there are nothing real
plastics and rags recycled for meal
which whilst I still faithfully reflect
I yet lament gently to deflect.
Psalm 103:14-16 New King James Version (NKJV)
14 For He knows our frame;
He remembers that we are dust.
15 As for man, his days are like grass;
As a flower of the field, so he flourishes.
16 For the wind passes over it, and it is gone,
And its place remembers it no more.[a]