The sun was as bright as its reflection,
And the trees were just as green.

The paler skies adorned the horizon,
And the yellow fields gilded its seam.

One blue toted the power lines,
And the other blunged into waters murky.

I maundered on a lengthy mud bank,
Reposed in tranquility.

It lasted longer than a moment,
A state of no memory.

Afterward came a realization,
That reflection is prolixity.

To own oneself isn’t a virtue,
But a necessity.

And that two different perspectives,
Could still live in harmony.