Once upon a distant time
Somewhere in the reach of rhyme

As the flowing ages pass
The world was called a looking glass.

A looking glass to what and who?
What do you see when you look through?

A man may see within the glass
He stands himself upon the grass,

Upon prestige’s fickle road
Shouldering a heavy load.

Or somewhere else, in joy or pain,
Himself and then himself again

Before the sky of stars impearled,
Within this glass that is the world.

Yet he himself is only part,
And not the whole of this broad art.

Man made not the universe,
Nor spawned the Thought beyond its verse.

So, perhaps, this glass of life
Shows more than man and his own strife.

Shall I see myself? I ponder,
Or gaze upon, in endless wonder

Him to whom the star-seas flow,
Whom the glass was wrought to show.

Selah Cross

Selah Cross, the oldest of five homeschooled children, is a young writer who has been raised on stories since before she could read. Now that she can read—and write—she spends her days rejoicing in every form of the written word, delighting in the hope and wonder that story reveals in the living world, and discovering the reflected truth of the True Story in the most fantastical tales of imagination.