Pitter patter, tiny taps of rainfall
plays ping pong on my panes.
Droplets pecking kisses on glass,
leaving half-drop spot remains.
Another pitter, another patter, and
droplet size makes gains.
Until the drops, too big to stick
run down the glass as veins.
Tiny snakes of tears shed, wiggling down
in shiny streaks and lanes.
Thanks to pitter patter, gluttony, drips and veins
my pane is cleared of dust and stains.
- Author: John Richard Anderson (Pseudonym) ( Offline)
- Published: August 13th, 2021 00:08
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 18
- Users favorite of this poem: Lorna
Comments4
Good read .Thanks for sharing
Thanks for the feedback. Cheers
Bought back a memory or two.
Would watch that for hours as a kid; loved the random patterning , guesses when the drops would start rolling and which path it would take...little things...
Captured for me nicely.
Thanks, Best Wishes
An introvert's rain.........
stuck inside on rainy days. looking out for sign its clearing up. Thanks for your response
Those droplets hold our attention and then we remember them forever, just like your words.
Thanks for your reply. Best Wishes
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