A question asked of glass is never wise
It tends to lead to darkness and to pain
For truth is twisted in the mirror’s lies.

The silken tongue of molten sand replies
to point out flaws until I see again
a question asked of glass is never wise.

“Always the wrong shape, never the right size,”
Reflection judges with open disdain
For truth is twisted in the mirror’s lies.

Bit by sickening bit you feel it prise
at you. Sharp understanding is regained:
A question asked of glass is never wise.

At every glance, inadequacies rise
With self belief in tatters, the fight’s in vain
For truth is twisted in the mirror’s lies.

Every crack and failing it magnifies
until only this cruel knowledge remains:
A question asked of glass is never wise
For truth is twisted in the mirror’s lies.