As my vanity penetrates
the colours will change
pine needles will be found
in the meadows of mountains
and the sound of horses on cobbles
will seem louder
than the voices of small dogs
tormented by cats

Busy marmots
will feast on the flower-heads
and sleep on my bed
as I search foolishly
for their gold

In the mirror
I will see the south garden
where the birds have returned
To inspect the tombs
of my ancestors
that are sinking
into the mud
of my tired battlefields

Glass ships
will remain in bottles
as the rain prunes the trees

And ants will sleep
in the loyal hearts of apples
that rot on my desk