Ode to My Cup

Just for fun, -one of the poems I've written lately. (This is what happens when you leave a foot or more of snow on your roof!)

Standing on my windowsill

blinking in the morning light,

reflecting the falling crystals

melting in and outside-

catching water droplets

which would otherwise

hit my head

keeping water off my books

and the foot-board of my bed.

The thick sound of plunking

as each drop hits the base-

a thunder, gently rumbling

keeping rain at bay.

The water quiets, swelling now

it rises against the rounded steel

it looks to overflow, perhaps

in its helping, welling, zeal.
It’s gathering in the showers,

it’s hiding pools in its caves-

my cup from foreign places

now foreign rains contains.

But I am safe, with my soldier near

(I don’t care so long as I’m dry).

Though wet, I think him as glad as me-

I imagine he overflows with joy.