Mr. Droplet was born from a fingertip
Placed on a wall expecting him to slip
Pulled down by his own weight
What he wouldn’t give to instead be on a plate
Every inch, a step towards non-existence
Giving it all he has, to offer resistance
Never once running out of breath
Doing all he can to avoid his death
But in the end, it was too late
Mr. Droplet fulfilled his fate
What was the point of it all?
His torturous journey down the wall
He looked at the wall from beyond the veil,
and saw that he had left behind a trail
Maybe that was the point of his existence
The result of all his hard work and persistence
Yet, in the end, it matters not
If he was kind or if he sinned
All it takes to dry the trail away,
is nothing but a gentle gush of wind