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.”