The thick lenses in specks,
They may smash, but what the heck!
The clattering of milk bottles from the white van,
Delivered by the milk bottle man.
The clear glassy window looking over the porch,
Like a glossy beacon or shining torch.
The satin square table on the dining room floor,
Was too small we needed more.
The stain glass beauties in a church,
Where the stories may unrest you from your comfy perch.
A sparking necklace, but not of diamonds,
Of the glass of a ladies finest requirements.
Tears that streak the cheeks of the young,
Stars that stick out there silvery tongue.

The thing we take for granted without it we'd fall,
Glass is the future, the past, my all.