The Mirror

Thou art the rain to my sky
Which heart to heart not lie when whosoever proclaim them to be
Is left unheard, in states of felony. Tis not time nor age to ascend
The bountiful springs of youth that descend upon those who wish to aquire
knowledge and power that lies within the hearts and minds of whom thy admire.
Pray tell, young settler, pray tell thy's secrets you seek for surely thous answers lies in thy's speech. Thy's speech which blooms and blossoms by the hour yet cares not for beauty holding in it a new power. Thee wish to know what thy wish not to know wilt propel thee to succumb to unevident sorrow. Thou art the rain to my sky, yet thee assume stances of joy. O, how I thy's wisdom wish to imploy! Art thou angered by such inquiries, thou's minds clouded by trivial matters? Wilst thou signal to lady hate when ever her eye batters? Thou art the rain to my sky, yet thee and I are kin. Tis the thoughts which runs wild whilst the mirror reveals to me thee again.