Am I thy most steadfast mirror image?
Thou art more real and true to the touch.
From thy personality I pillage;
On thy existence, I rely too much.
At which hour night falls nay figure shows,
The temperate mereflod of black, stillness.
A nearu null life with nothing but prose.
Time goeth on, expand does the darkness.
But while it falls, light still shines through again.
Thy absence allows room for reflection,
A chance for the day anew to begin.
Nay mirror, a pane for new perfection.
As I am hath left high-lone I flourish.
As mine own youth buds, I shalt not perish.