Poem twelve
The mirror was born
Serving his customers
With the same perfect smile
God likes his ways
Handling all sorts of creation
The bad
The good
And the ugly
Sometimes they damage
His reflection by moods of the world
But not his smiling soul
I am not saying anything he says
It all goes through my ears
All unrecorded
I am just not decorated
Ready to serve is how he is made
No lunch
No coffee
No sleep
But sings more than a robot
What a reflection
The mirror was born
Serving his customers
With the same perfect smile
God likes his ways
Handling all sorts of creation
The bad
The good
And the ugly
Sometimes they damage
His reflection by moods of the world
But not his smiling soul
I am not saying anything he says
It all goes through my ears
All unrecorded
I am just not decorated
Ready to serve is how he is made
No lunch
No coffee
No sleep
But sings more than a robot
What a reflection
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