Water, frozen, in morning’s air

Place’s itself most everywhere

Lingers, while it congregates

Stops, and thinks and contemplates

Of where the next could possibly land

Perhaps I’ll catch it in my hand

So as not to let it hit the ground

No, I won’t let it fall earthbound

I’ll place it back, onto the branch

And watch, as another takes the chance

Then sigh, as each new one appears

Raindrops, winter’s icy tears

August Writing Prompt – Icy Morn – Day 30/31

©2018 Dorinda Duclos All Rights Reserved
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