Glass sparkles in the sun,
Clear and invisible, sometimes never seen,
But in itself a picture frame resides,
with another world inside.

Some days it is plain, hardly noticeable to the naked eye,
seen only as a barrier for keeping out the rain,
a kaleidoscope that changes like the sky,
to fierce storms, or warm summer days,
to trees burning with the fall, or frostbitten winter times.

If the sun is bright enough on a rainy day,
through the glass a broken rainbow can be seen,
fragments of splintered rays.
In this brokenness there is happiness and pleasure,
despite the fact the glass will never be just right.

Smudged and streaked by little hands and faces,
the window is clouded with life and of youth.
The only picture on those days,
is one of beauty and hope.

When you are on the outside looking in,
there are scary days of pain or warm sunshine coming in.
Someday in that picture frame waiting for me will be,
children playing in the sun or warm hugs on wedding days.