The glossy water was a crystal ball,
Covered in vegetating film called age.
It mesmerized the lonely man so much,
He called out: Camille! this became a stage.

Light blurred like an ink blot on soft paper,
Then only to blind his cataract eyes.
A case of passion through Mother Nature,
Expressed by the tears of the old man’s cries.

A reflective life shown upon water,
On a screen glittered with young, pink flowers,
And the admission was free for this show,
Who wants to watch tragedy for hours?

But the sun lit the water, swamp to lush,
And there he saw fresh sparkling eyes and knew,
Lily pads are for both frogs and flowers,
And the choice of hue isn’t always blue.