- Last Record: 2012-12-14 19:16:24 -0500
- Joined: Jul 26, 2012
––April 12, 2012
Small beads of Crystal drip off my hat brim
Gently sway, forward, backward, then descend,
Cascade, fall, dissipate, and are no more. It is a
Strange thing for this to be, that water heaven
Sent can become part of dryness, wherein no
Moisture resided before. How simply those
Little beads swayed. How lovely the gentle
Aroma of fresh rain on dry earth.
Flower blossoms open heavenward catch the
Little droplets, the tiny crystals, the miniscule
Moisture, like pitchers in the hands of green
Robed damsels who dance only when the winds
Beckon so. Brightly colored pitchers of vibrant
Yellow gold, which is sampled by all stately
Insects, the bee, the butterfly, and of avian array
The humming bird, and what other chance feathered
Flyer would so choose to suction fine delights.
Yet soon, too soon the little purities of Angels hands
Cease descending, and again only grey sky and quiet lark
Fill the air in absence of gentle trickle where rain once ruled.
A day to be remembered when my hat dripped with tiny crystals
Placed there by the hands of loving Goddesses yet unknown to me.