In the east, gold sunbeams rise;
In the west, they fade away.
Hues of magic roam the skies
At break of morn, at death of day.

For such it is in life so full
Of thorns and roses, each in turn
Brings beauty to a hungry soul
If one has eyes to seek and learn.

They compare eyes to windows,
a way of looking in;
or glassy, like a mirror--
are you but a reflection?

Eyes like water, too, they say:
deep pools, deep seas.
But pools may freeze
and seas may swell with storm.

Glass and water, they trade
similes as one and same.
A pool of tears, a looking glass--
I'm always slipping through.

But I can't reach through this mirror.
Ice has covered
the pool of your reflection;
there is frost on the window to your soul.