Early morning of an Indian summer,
to hear the pitter-patter of a newbie rock ‘n’ roll drummer,
still music to ears right out of slumber,
just close your eyes and pick your magic number.

For the droplets maybe bringing,
new messages for a worrying mind,
to hold them in a bottle to remind
the force behind the tiny droplets when combined.

Gone are the days of longing to be drenched,
the thirst for beauty has been quenched
moods of creation has in it totally entrenched
tiny sparkles that have those tiny droplets clenched.

Count those wishes,
earth is giving out riches,
just observing those tiny droplets,
will pull imagination like conjuring new puzzle pieces.