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Just as the cover does not reveal the book~
not the subject, nor the time the author took~
The mirror judges only how I look.
In the looking glass, an echo of my face~
reveals no inner beauty, exposes no simple grace.
The flowers all but forgotten, I see only the vase.
I touch the mirror's surface, searching for more;
I feel only glass, not the sands upon my shore.
It does not show that my heart's an open door.
A reflection of me, that is no reflection of me,
giving no indication of the person I can be~
A loyal friend and a spirit that is free.
I took a trip to the mirror, to see how I look,
making sure to take note of the time the author took~
and remembering not to judge the cover of the book.
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