Mirror of Mirrors

A mirror tells me of a crease on my shirt
Or if my face is smudged with dirt.
A fine look, I'm told too, it does not hesitate;
I plunge into my day before eight.

The Bible: the mirror of the heart--
The mirror of mirrors in an essential part:
How would I know where I've run short,
If to the mirror of mirrors I don't resort?

The Bible: a mirror, not an orchard--
I cannot pick or even discard.
I'm chastised but always hugged,
Flaked and flayed but never mugged.

Note: The title 'Mirror of Mirrors' is not mine. I heard that from a radio station. So I played with the idea. The poem is mine, though

To the Nightingale

Sing to me O Nightingale!
Let my heart cease to wail.
Calm my aching heart
Longing for home. Why did I depart?

Serenade. Croon to me O Nightingale.
Soothe my anguished soul.
Heal me with your voice: I'm an injured foal.
Croon, O Nightingale.

Hum to me, my Nightingale, I beg you.
Restore my life and strength anew.
With your healing song, wash away
My grief and make me gay.

Give me music, Nightingale, please.
And let my torment cease
Calm my heart, soothe my soul--
Have mercy on this injured foal.