From my window I gazed on a lily
That had been denied rain and sun,
Always looking heavenward with trust,
Pleading for mercy . . . but finding none

From my window I watched a grieving bird --
Strong gales had swept over her nest,
In vain, she called to her loving mate . . .
Morning found his tattered wings at rest

From my window I observed a woman,
Lonely tears channeling her face,
Every day she walked her path alone,
Feeble and unsteady in her pace

A reassuring word might sustain her,
As I hastened to draw nearer,
It was only then I realized
That I was looking in my mirror

The slighted lily, the forsaken bird,
How devious the mind can be!
My own pain, so cleverly disguised
Fills my mirror, staring back at me

From my window I watch life passing by,
O, these eyes, how they have deceived!
But blessed are they who cannot discern
What is certain from what is perceived