Our vases were filled with wine

Our vases were filled with wine
As our childhoods spun on a dime
But it wasn't the abstinence of tears
That made us, into granite rocks.
It wasn't Mount Vesuvius…
That turned us each into clay-pots
So what was it, please... answer!
Well, look, look, here's the answer…
It's written on the back of that mirror!

poem by Mark Heathcote
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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