Turn back the clock and lie to me
of notepads, pens and paper clips,
love letters inked in Copperplate,
old roses on a winding path,
leading to a floral clock,
elegant, non-digital,
far from concrete certainties
that scream solutions on a screen,
an antique mirror on the wall,
framed in beaten silver swirls,
peep inside and realise
that the mirror never lies.
