Mirror, mirror, on the wall;
who's the fairest one of all?
What times are these; what has become of us
when, for hours, we preen and style and perfect?
Is there no more value in charm and wit,
or in the good, old-fashioned intellect?
Like birds of paradise, we flaunt ourselves.
We warp and stain our skin and burn our hair;
superficial creatures we have become.
Is there no true beauty left anywhere?
Shattered mirror, on the floor;
quoth the raven; nevermore.
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