Since this pond was so smooth I literally couldn't tell what was it and what was the sky, I decided it would make a nice poem.
Moral: things may be similar, but they are not the same.
Water blends too well with things,
As if it were all on single strings.
A certain place finds my eyes,
Not to be described as one noun.
They clouds are gray, this place like ashes.
And so I watch it, and I
Am positive that this is the sky.
But a little boy splashes,
And then I realize
I’ve been looking down.
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