Beads slip from one leaf to the next,
going unnoticed by the veins.
They slide along like slippery orbs,
falling back in with the rain.
The grip of the leaves goes untried,
the droplets finding no hold,
so they glide again, as always before,
with their stories going untold.
They roll along from leaf to leaf,
seeking to share their song,
but they never seem to get caught,
they never seem to belong.
These droplets bounce from cup to cup,
but they never settle within.
Instead they escape, though not by choice,
slipping beyond the brim.
Their worth is never valued,
their beauty is never seen,
their glow is never captured,
as they slip and slide in between.
What leaf will capture such glory?
What eye will observe such grace?
What vessel will savor such splendor?
O to be found in that place!