Upon the misty pane of my window to the world,
The scattering of troubles are like drops of rain.
The drops run down and slide around and some collide,
Then suddenly halt, one a splotch the other a blur.
Reality is hard to fathom through the foggy glass,
And I can hardly see through all those tears.
From inside out I peer with glum forbearance,
Yet I still have hope that the sun will come again,
Until that day when its account is low on funds,
And it stops making payments...
The scattering of troubles are like drops of rain.
The drops run down and slide around and some collide,
Then suddenly halt, one a splotch the other a blur.
Reality is hard to fathom through the foggy glass,
And I can hardly see through all those tears.
From inside out I peer with glum forbearance,
Yet I still have hope that the sun will come again,
Until that day when its account is low on funds,
And it stops making payments...
.
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