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

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