He sees a little boy peering out of the mirror,
Most cheerful.
Methinks he’s singing a hymn.
Full-throated.
In a tongue almost alien,
Though it may well be his mother tongue.
He can barely read.

Yet his spirit soars.
The meanings may elude him,
But not their light.

So enthused, he lends his name to his kin.
They are known by his echo,
His father, his mother, his sister too.

But the man staring into that mirror?
He barely recalls a full hymn.
Familiar tunes sting his eyes, choke his voice.
Lines once known
now falter on his lips.

Frustrated.
Frustrating.
Frustrated.

He strains for the boy’s voice,
that innocent defiance,
that untutored joy,
but hears only silence
where song once lived.

And yet…
somewhere within that ache,
a note still lingers.
Waiting to be sung anew.