Ordinary mirrors that hang upon a wall Reflect images. Likenesses, yet shadows small

Of what they really see or do they see at all?

Kaleidoscope of images, carousals round

Whirling, ever whirling illusion without sound

Abstract visions  with vague and misty auras found

That echo other images now out of place

Shadowy marionettes that dance in cryptic grace

Each time a mirror casts reflection of a face.

Marie Hunter Atwood

The Gate of the Year

The First Gift of Christmas