This poem deals with that trickster, perception. 
![](https://steemitimages.com/DQmZHkteP91nH7ie8U9QTpRLZFiEr8Cme763xSqkKAAkkuJ/image.png)


REFLECTION 

Spring sun streams
through a winter
grimed window - 
and happy though I am
to welcome warmth
returning, such light
reveals my lack, 
reproaches me
for months of sloth
and grubby indolence -
now the search begins
for rags and vinegar,
energy and resolve
yet to emerge like crocus
from the glacial sludge
of yearly hibernation –
still, perhaps a sweeter
option opens: wait 
until the cold sun, 
that tattle-tale, descends
behind the cedar tree,
switch on a table lamp - 
magic! Reflected 
on the gleaming glass:
a perfect room
and smiling face.


![window.jpg](https://steemitimages.com/DQmScQCpbqgXoTeZMSqjK6Y2fF2WGorMBsXoHK8KY23oE7J/window.jpg)