It’s Reckoned

Reflections are many
On its way it’s lean
Beyond the canvas it’s a hurdle
But the bunches are providence

There above its fathom counts
All are mere the reflections
But its ranges are indefinite
Vacuum that reflects always

Up above it’s not a screen
But the wisdom that measure from heights
Days are counted with whisper
All projections are hoarded

Measure the size of deficit
Prior count the indulgence
All performance is monitored
Rest will follow as its boon! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !

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