Glass not raised but higher than stone, it remains, retains, reflects.

All seeing is all knowing, and it knows but what it sees:

A canopy composed of solid pearl, freckled with oncoming droplets of dew.

And flaming, burning, crisping, turning, delicate starlets edge the scene by

Complimenting and focusing their attention on naught but a pair

Nay double a pair, of rubbery, yellow, infantile boots.

Though without these dear boots, be it still wonderous in ways no one could define,

The view from the ground would seem incomplete.

And so mindful of this tragical, bittersweet thought,

The thin sheet of glass cannot help but hope 

And wonder if you would stay for awhile

And wonders if you will remain with the rain.