The old red wall is dressed in stems of wood
In wintertime, we see the ancient bricks.
But in the springtime come the flower buds.
We see no more of frost and slippery tricks.
Which vision is the true one,we may ask
Just as with the faces we each show.
But is there any virtue in that task
For reality is impossible to know.
Each perspective gives a vision new.
The more we see ,the more we realise.
Other cultures have a different view.
Argument is futile and unwise.
As when and where we stand gives us our view.
I shall perceive differently from you
How my heart sings 