Upon the window of my motor warm
Dives the meager drop, dispersing itself.
Strong aerial winds carry it, and swarm,
To live therein, settle the crystal shelf.
Many a unit coagulates there
To compose a sole puddle 'mid the rest.
The fate of probability fails ne'er
To 'nvent a happy being in just mist.
The drop lives a glad life, sliding down and down,
The windowpane, diminishing meanwhile.
Hence the drop lives its long life, there to drown
In the vast everything of its world small.
Though happy and unknowing, the drop's life
Is oft'cut short by the sweeping black knife.
YOU ARE READING
Not From Chicago.
PoetryThis is a collection of my best poetry in my opinion! I hope you enjoy, whoever may paint their eyes over the letters and words I've arranged! PS-This book includes poems from "A World In Words" by yours truly. Go check out the other book, if you li...
