The savant had a vision.
All the scum was to be skimmed,
The limpid pool ever undimmed.
A light shimmers on the pool,
A gift from the selfsame sun
That now dries the scooped out scum.
The blue liquid eye stares now
Into its solar cousin,
A contest without an end.
The scum shines, iridescent
Sinking into the wet grass.
Mercy died.