Mirror, Mirror

The white linen cloth is
Dragged from the rotted
Wooden frame of the
Ages old mirror.
Cracks vein through the
Lovely glass, and a breeze
Enters the attic,
Sighing across the 
Surface of the mirror.
It splinters,
Crumbles,
Into dust on the floor
Around its festering skeleton.
Gently
The breeze returns, its sigh
A moan, and carries the
Shattered fragments out 
Into the night,
Scattering them
Among the 
Stars.