Of Which I See

I open my curtains and see
Each individual drop of dew
On that chilly pane of glass
The wind whips from nowhere
Killing and thrashing and shouting commands
Blades of grass stand to obey
Flick their heavy tips up to space
And whistle gently in that beautiful decay.

But from that storm I must’ve found
Beyond the rain and the freezing cold
A new beginning to grasp and hold.