Saturday, January 10, 2009

The Crystal Glass


A drop of water sees a glass

Whose brittle form is fashioned fine

And so it yearns to sit within,

Tantalisingly at the brim,

For all the world like sweetest wine.

It spurns the stagnant, country pond;

Ignores the mildew on the wall;

The little drop knows it won’t rest

Until it only has the best

Receptacle in which to fall.

No comments:

Post a Comment