When I glimpse in a mirror, I see
The wind blowing through the willow tree.
Like Alice through the looking-glass
What will I find, if through I pass?


A land where hopes and dreams come true?
Where the sky is green, and the grass is blue?
Perhaps in the land behind the mirror
A place where people are kinder and fairer?


Alack, alas, I cannot pass
Like Alice through the looking-glass.
And so I stay with wings yet furled
Within in this rather mundane world.


~ Paul (AHikingDude@aol.com)

October 2004








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