Beneath gray skies Clouds lingered Creating shrouds of Mist so fine, below, A dark feathered dove Splashed and preened Admiring his reflection. Playfully he stompted About but suddenly he Chattered loudly as if There were something Amiss. It seems that Luck was with him For as he had danced The puddle disappeared And he was able to depart Head held high with his Reflection safely returned.
"Imagination allows fantasy many wonderful privileges." - Marie