A Cup Half-Full Poem by M. A Heathcote

I now fear nothing can be enhanced.
Now I have a cup half-filled at last.
How can a water lily's reflection
Be more refined and crystal clear.
Now that's it, it's sitting up unapologetic.
Above, pondering the still blue air.
The cycle of life - isn't it prophetic?
We live; we die, in poetic states of abjection.
And our lust is an additional stratosphere.
Like flower stalks stretching to Apollo
Likewise, we're a submerged waterlily.
I guess all it wants to do, then, is to follow.
These cups & saucers are brimming too full, spilling over.
And like her, not too shabbily either.