The red bird, with flashing wings
Throws himself into the fray.
His enemy, equally frenzied,
Not retreating, stands his ground.
They crash together, then rebound.
The red bird retreats a distance then attacks again.
A second hit, a third and more.
Growing wearier with each painful strike.
He concedes at last and abandons the field,
Yielding victory to his implacable foe.
The red bird finds a resting place and quietly sits
Allowing time to soothe his battered breast,
Never realizing, as we too often forget,
His mortal enemy was but a reflection of himself.
An excerpt from my book, “A Mixed Bag.”
rixlibris 
I like it. The play on words works for the title. Nicely done. 🙂
Thanks for your kind words.
We have one of those over on our side of the road. Love the wisom at the end.
Imagine, being accused of wisdom. Thanks for your comment, lovely lady.