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..