I gaze upon my window-sill,

Where stands my precious glass.

One half tis full of water,

One half is just mixed gas.

 

I wonder some, I ponder some –

Half empty why my glass?

Scurrying, worrying – how to fill

How best to bridge the impasse?

 

I know no rest, nor joy I know,

In my quest to more amass.

In comes gust of wind so strong,

Comes tumbling down my glass.

 

No more empty now my glass,

Nor is it full, alas!

A small wet patch on my floor,

Zillion piercing shards of glass..