It’s a matter of perspective

As this is all subjective

And rather reflective

So

The Wishing Well

Is where bad things dwell

Stories I could retell,

Show

From a different point of view

With varying levels of blue

And mild deja vu,

Though

Knowing good and bad exist—

Neither will completely desist,

For together they subsist—

Allows me to see

(Her hand around my wrist)

It’s all a matter of perspective.

It’s like a bee,

(Should I resist?)

Merely protective

(Will she make a sharp twist?)

But honey is not free

And pain is often the cost.

Is a sparkling winter worth

The early morning frost?

It’s all a matter of perspective.