Under a twilight sky,
In a far away lagoon,
A lake's glassy surface
Reflects the light of the moon.

The old paternal moon,
Above his watery flock,
Minds the many droplets
Who form the congregant loch.

Each droplet is unique,
A being unto itself,
Birth... death... a life between,
Lived in spiritual stealth.

When sunlight warms the day,
Some drops evaporate up.
Friends are separated;
That's the cost of growing up.

These drops don't despair, though,
For they know they'll meet again;
When the clouds grow heavy,
These drops become drops of rain.

When raindrops hit the lake,
Ripples form on the surface.
Each of those little waves
Has its own noble purpose.

Each wave, a reminder,
Each ripple, a brief hello,
From one distant raindrop
To all those it used to know.

- Jon Parise