Water on the Windowsill

In the midst of hail,

When the snow blazes,

There's water on the windowsill.

There's water on the windowsill.

Now spring has come,

A green cross,

Bearing sun

And shining sky.

There's water on the windowsill.

Summer looms,

The flowers bloom,

The grass has wilted.

There's water on the windowsill.

Fall brings with it the rainbow,

And the nauseous colors

That hang on the wind.

Still, there's water on the windowsill.

There's water on the windowsill.

And winter again,

With the ice,

And the white rain.

Damn.

There's water on the windowsill.

Now the sky is gone,

The ground opens.

I see the devil,

And he too remarks,

On the water on the windowsill.

The water on the windowsill.

Dead night,

Open day.

There's water on the windowsill,

There's water on the windowsill.

There's water on the windowsill.

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Okay, I know I said poetry is something I dabble in only occasionally, but I've been taking a course on poetry recently, so the definition of "occasionally" might inflate a bit. Anyhoo, I hope you enjoyed that—I'm afraid I don't have anything philosophical to say this time, so hopefully my verses will talk for me. I had a lot of fun with this one, and I'm actually quite proud of it.  Leave me your thoughts in the comments below. Thanks for reading!