OLD NURSERY

In the tired face of the mirror

There is a blue curtain reflected.

If I could lift the reflection,

Peer a little beyond, I would see

A boy crying

Because his sister is ill in another room

And he has no one to play with:

A boy listlessly scattering building blocks,

And crying,

Because no one will build for him the palace of Fairy Morgana.

I cannot lift the curtain:

It is stiff and frozen.