Dance of the Dewdrop
Looking out my window through the pane of glass,
I spot a dewdrop resting on a blade of grass.
The blade is bending from the water's weight.
To slide and fall, is surely the dewdrop's fate.
A rainbow of colors in the dewdrop is swirling,
And like a toy top, the dewdrop is twirling.
Holding on, trying not to plummet down,
And end up a puddle on the cold, hard ground.
Twisting and turning, gripping the blade,
A ballet, a dance--a dewdrop parade.
Soon the sun's warmth dries up the rain.
The dance of the dewdrop, alas, was in vain.
Copyright ©2006 Rose Mary West Ekerholm AKA Plethora