The old red wall is dressed in stems of wood
In wintertime, we see the ancient bricks.
In springtime come the tender flower buds.
We see no more of Jack Frost and his 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?
Reality is impossible to know.
Each perspective gives an insight new.
The more we see, the more we realize.
Other cultures have a different view.
The argument is futile and unwise.
As when and where we stand gives us our view.
l shall perceive life differently from you
How my heart sings 