Am I thy most steadfast mirror image?

Thou art more real and true to the touch.

From thy personality I pillage;

On thy existence, I rely too much.

At which hour night falls nay figure shows,

The temperate mereflod of black, stillness.

A nearu null life with nothing but prose.

Time goeth on, expand does the darkness.

But while it falls, light still shines through again.

Thy absence allows room for reflection,

A chance for the day anew to begin.

Nay mirror, a pane for new perfection.

As I am hath left high-lone I flourish.

As mine own youth buds, I shalt not perish.