The break of dawn,
Brings with it dew drops,
Glistening in the morning light,
Looking like transparent beads.
So round and so perfect,
And yet so fragile.
The soft leaves act like a bed,
For these pearls which appear only in the morn.
In the afternoon they disappear,
Leaving no trace at all.
Now I see one gently rolling down a leaf,
And with a smalls splash,
Sinking into the soil,
From where they most probably branch.