To catch water from a falling glass that has
tipped over the table top from a
careless little tug (one of many, it’s been edging) at the tablecloth
and watch as it somersaults in the air
giving up its contents in a hapless fashion
watching as the hand reaches to grab it
but it falls, it falls, it slips and it falls
and all that’s left is a wetness on the hand
(the drops clinging on but dripping still)
and the broken shards of glass
Don’t cry over spilt milk
much less water.
4 comments:
dear el el el el el
i think yr poems will really sell sell sell sell
because you simply write so well well well well well
but the difference split milk or fruitful endeavours, nobody can ever tell tell tell tell tell
wah dr sb if this means what i think it means...ni hao jue wor!! and yay you are finally writing again. we live to laugh again! :] haha oke but it's good stuff lah. -wydrbyw
haha el
i love this poem! i wanna copy it n put it on my blog! can i?
i like this too.
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