Written for one of Bron's poetry challenges - I've been thinking about mirrors because I have an idea fora magical mirror - more on this later perhaps.

The mirror dances with the marionette.
(Pierrot is smiling, but his cheeks are wet)
Behind the silver ghostly figures glide:
The pallid bridegroom waltzes with his bride.
The smoke curls upward from a cigarette.

The music box no longer plays, and yet
The ballerina spins en pirouette,
The shadow waltzers move from side to side,
The mirror dances...

Now all the words are tainted with regret-
Hard to remember, harder to forget.
Reflection tells you hope has always lied;
Behind the mirror all the dreams have died,
Have turned to shadow, blown away, and yet
The mirror dances...