Light hitting her face on the glass, This little mirror showing one lass. The ugly duckling not near a swan. Nothing you would lay hands on. What she views she hates, For she is the one cursed with this face. If you were to see, to cast an eye, would you mutter bye before saying hi. For in this mirror I look, looking at the tattered cover of my book. Not interesting, a bit of a bore, pages ripped out and thrown on t...