I set about to write a sad, sad story,
a tale to tear the hardest hearts of men;
but as I looked about for inspiration -
reaching here, prying there,
and rummaging through
all the wrinkled sorrows that have been -
I saw here and there a twinkle
throwing back my candle's light.

At first I wondered at this
and wandered toward those stars,
for what did light refracted have to tell
about our scars?
But as I bent to listen to the whispers of that dream,
I saw my dim reflection in a
shattered glassy gleam.

Mirror broken on the floor,
am I truly the most sorrowful
of all?